


And Keep Your Feet on the Ground

by atetheredmind (s_e_irvine)



Series: Love and Folly [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:47:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 73,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_e_irvine/pseuds/atetheredmind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Peeta Mellark was reaped for the 74th Hunger Games. He lived. Now, as a victor gearing up to be a mentor in the Quarter Quell, he learns what it really means to survive the Hunger Games: You never really win. Sequel to "Keep the Blood in Your Head." Peeta/Katniss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**i. A white blank page and a swelling rage**

Peeta couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"What do you mean, you don't need me anymore?" he asked incredulously as he stood in his parents' bakery one Sunday morning. His father at least had the decency to look contrite, but his mother fixed him with a smoldering look.

"Don't be so melodramatic," she sniffed disdainfully as she counted the money in the register. "You're causing a scene."

Peeta looked around them at the empty bakery. It was midmorning, and there were no customers in the store.

"Son, it's not that we don't need you—" his father started, faltering when his wife huffed behind him. "It's just that with Rye being out of school now and working full-time with Barm, it's kind of crowded now. And as someone of your standing, you don't really need to work here. You should spend your time doing activities more befitting of your station."

His father tried to smile helpfully, but Peeta shook his head. What kind of activities did his father think he should be doing exactly? He was no longer allowed to attend school, so he couldn't really hang out with his friends anymore while they were in class. With all the winnings from the Hunger Games, he didn't need to work—though he wanted to, but now, his parents were refusing him that.

Or rather, his mother was, and his dad was bending to her will, like he always did.

"I want to work here, dad. I want to help out. I like baking. I don't have school; I don't have any other occupation or career skills. What other activities could possibly require all of my time?" he asked his father, but it was his mother who responded.

"Shouldn't you be slumming it up with that Seam slut?" she spat at him, slamming the register closed, and Peeta visibly recoiled; that hurt.

"Narah!" his father exclaimed in horror, his voice tinged with mild anger. He threw his wife an exasperated glance before he looked at Peeta apologetically. "I'm sorry, that was—"

"It's true, Faren!" his wife interrupted. "He let that tramp badmouth our family on TV, and then she flaunts her relationship with that other piece of Seam trash in front of the whole town, making a laughingstock out all of us. Even she didn't want him! He's worthless!"

Peeta shook with barely contained rage. He was afraid he was going to lash out and break something, so he whirled around on his heel and stalked out of the bakery. His father called after him, but whatever he said was cut off by the door slamming shut. The cold air was biting, so he fastened his heavy coat up to his chin and stuffed his hands in his pockets as he trudged through the snow. His hot breath was visible in the early morning light, coming out in short, shallow puffs. His blood was thrumming in his ears, and he halted in the street as he forced himself to take deep, deliberate breaths. Once he felt like he had his temper under control, he began walking again, aimlessly. Other residents meandered past him, some throwing curious glances his way. He kept his head down as he walked, not entirely sure where he was going.

He couldn't believe his parents had barred him from working at the bakery. It was bad enough they refused to live with him at his house in the Victor's Village, leaving him alone in a too-big house with only a hardly-ever-conscious Haymitch as a neighbor. Peeta still remembered returning from the games to find only his stuff packed and ready to be moved to his new house. When he asked why his family wasn't moving, his father offered some half-hearted excuse that it didn't make sense for them to move from the bakery when they needed to be there to open it every day. And now Peeta wasn't even welcome at the bakery. Why were they pushing him out?

Since returning from the games, Peeta had never been lonelier. The day he stepped off that train months ago, he'd had much to occupy his time, with the banquet dinners and district celebrations. For weeks, there was always someone in his company: officials who wanted to congratulate and interview him, friends who wanted to reunite and even strangers who wanted to get to know him. And there were cameras to capture every moment of it.

And even Katniss had been at his side for some of it. Everyone was so interested in the star-crossed lovers of District 12, and that narrative had been so important to his survival in his games, it would have been strange if she hadn't been spotted in his company at least occasionally in those first few weeks. But Peeta could tell how uncomfortable she was, how pained her smiles were whenever she was asked to pose for a photo with him. He felt horrible dragging her through the charade. No matter how much he hoped it was real, he knew it wasn't, not for her. Her strained discomfort in his presence made it obvious she was only acting the part; she had only shown up that day at the train station to uphold the pretense of the romance Haymitch (and he himself, he couldn't overlook his own part in the ploy) had concocted to win him support and sympathy with sponsors and viewers.

And he didn't begrudge her for it. It stung, but he knew coming home her feelings were not mutual. She had saved his life, and he was grateful for it. But it killed him knowing that she was pretending to love him, that she was forced into a fake relationship with him; that was the last thing he had wanted. He was sure she was eager for the day the celebrations ended and she could go back to her regular life.

So when the last of the cameras had left and he had seen Effie, Portia and his style team off at the train station with promises to see each other again on the Victory Tour, he had been surprised to find Katniss sitting on the front steps of his house, waiting for him.

_"Hi," he said to her cautiously as he approached, his artificial leg slowing him down. He was still getting used to walking with a prosthetic, so he limped along with his cane._

_She smiled at him hesitantly, which was a wonderful change from the usual scowl that adorned her face. His heart dipped to his stomach, just like it always did when he looked at her. "That the last of them?" she asked, and he gathered she meant the Capitol visitors._

_"Yeah, everyone finally left. Tomorrow will be the first time I've woken up in a while without Effie screeching in my ear, 'It's going to be a big, big, big day!'" he joked in a poor imitation of his escort's accent. Katniss smiled awkwardly, and Peeta laughed weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. It was twilight, but he could see the way her eyes shifted around nervously, as if she didn't quite know where to look._

_"Well—you must be glad," she said, fidgeting on his steps._

_He stared at her, trying to memorize the soft lines of her face, the slant of her gray eyes, the wisps of hair that escaped her braid. "Probably not as glad as you," he offered, pursing his lips in a sad smile. Her eyebrows twitched at his words, the bridge of her nose creasing slightly, and then she shrugged._

_"I can't say I'm going to miss them, no. It's been pretty...weird having them around all the time. Having to deal with them," she finished vaguely, but he thought he understood what she was saying, and he nodded._

_"Sorry about that. For all of this, really," he said softly and kicked a nearby rock, surveying the houses around them, too nervous to look at her. "I appreciate everything you've done to...help me. I know it was hard having to—" he faltered, his face flushing. "Well, I know it was hard for you. But they're gone now, at least, so you don't have to keep up the pretense anymore."_

_Katniss didn't say anything for a moment, the heavy silence broken only by the faint sounds of Peeta's labored breathing. When he finally forced himself to look at her face, she gazed at him, her brow pinched in confusion. "I'm...not sure I follow."_

_Peeta shifted his weight off his left leg, the flesh where his prosthetic met his knee starting to ache uncomfortably, and he gripped the cane tightly. "I know things have been—well, crazy, I guess since...the games. The things I said about you..." His voice caught, and he cleared his throat loudly. They had never discussed the things he had said in his interviews and in the games, and he could tell his words made her uncomfortable immediately, as she crossed her arms over her stomach and looked away. "Well, Haymitch got it into his head that doing this whole, you know, unrequited love story would help me in the games. I didn't know—I didn't want him to drag you into it, but he did. So I'm sorry that he did, but we don't have to...pretend anymore."_

_The silence stretched, and his heart pounded painfully in his chest. He couldn't read the expression on her face, which had suddenly become so closed off to him. "Right," she said hollowly then stood up. She still wouldn't look him in the eye. "Yeah, that's fine. Take care, Peeta."_

_She brushed past him, and panic squeezed at his heart. "Katniss!" he called, and she reluctantly turned back to him, but she seemed to look right past him. "Please, I just hope you understand how much I really do appreciate what you've done to help me. I really...thank you," he finished lamely. She just nodded, eagerly spinning her on heel and hurrying away from him, back to the Seam. Peeta watched her form fade into the night until he couldn't see it anymore. Then he stared up at the clear summer sky for a while, watching the stars flicker against the inky canvas. When his leg started to ache again, he finally sighed, defeated, and limped into his empty house._

He and Katniss had barely spoken to each other since that night beyond stiff, courtesy greetings when they happened to pass each other. He wasn't exactly sure why she was so cold toward him—or maybe she was just uncomfortable around him now, knowing how he felt about her while she was indifferent to him at best—and he didn't want to force her into a tepid friendship if she wanted to avoid him. He guessed he and Katniss would never be anything more than acquaintances.

It was for the best, though. His time in the games had irrevocably changed him; he was a mess most days, tormented by nightmares every night. He often couldn't sleep, and he suffered from regular panic attacks. When he was younger, when he hadn't quite been desensitized to his mother's abuse yet, he would have panic attacks. Eventually, he had learned to control them, for the most part—involving himself in wrestling and other extracurricular activities had helped get his anxiety under control; but the horror of the games had brought them back again full force.

It was definitely for the best that he didn't drag her into the horrors of his life. He knew she had enough trouble in her own life.

Peeta slowly ambled to a stop in the middle of town, not sure where he was going. Without his regular shift at the bakery, he didn't have anything to occupy his time. He was still on edge, his argument with his parents and his mother's hateful words ringing in his ears. He needed something to calm him down. He had taken up painting in his free time, finally able to purchase the expensive oils and supplies with his winnings. As a victor, he was expected to acquire a talent, and he didn't have to search hard; he had grown up sketching on used parchment paper from the bakery, swirling food coloring into near replicas of customers and the bakery's display cakes. His doodles had earned him his fair share of reprimands and exasperated whacks from his mother, but now he was free to indulge his artistic interests without criticism.

Sometimes, he painted in moments like this to calm his nerves, but he didn't think it was going to help right then; he painted the games because those memories were what usually haunted him, and it helped to put those images down on canvas. But this time it was his mother. Just with the thought of her, he could feel his heart rate picking up, his breath quickening in his chest, and he forced himself into a fast walk. He suddenly knew where he was going.

He had never been to the Hob—he hadn't had much cause to do any trading or bartering before. But he had money in his pocket now, more money than he could ever possibly need, and he was willing to bet there was someone eager to take some of it from him.

Peeta had to duck behind a building to fight through his panic attack. Leaning against the wall, he took deep even breaths until he felt his heart slow, then he was back on the main road a few minutes later, plodding through the coal-stained sludge. When he stepped into the old coal warehouse, he hesitated as he scanned the vendors. Many residents were already making their trades for the day, venturing from booth to booth. He spied the vendor he was looking for: spirits. Licking his lips apprehensively, he stuffed his hands back into his pockets and strolled up to the booth. The woman selling the liquors—Ripper, he thought he remembered his brothers calling her, when they used to sneak into the Hob to buy alcohol from her—gave him a once-over, raising an eyebrow critically. She seemed to recognize him, but she didn't seem to care. He liked that.

He smiled warmly at her. "Good morning," he greeted with a slight nod. "Can I get a bottle of the vodka?"

She made a sound in the back of her throat as she considered him, but she set a bottle of clear liquid down on the table in front of him. He dug a few coins out of his pocket and plopped them down on the table. "Aren't you a little young to be drinking that, boy?" she asked harmlessly with an amused glint in her eyes, and she snatched the coins up.

His smile listed to the side as he scooped up the bottle, eyeing it. "But not too young to be drafted into a televised battle to the death," he said wryly, but once the words were out of his mouth, he flinched. Most people didn't seem to appreciate his dry humor when it concerned the games, but sometimes it was the only way he knew how to deal with it. Ripper just shook her head, clucking her tongue. "Um, thanks."

He turned away but froze when he saw Katniss across the way. With Gale Hawthorne. Their eyes locked, and she seemed equally surprised—maybe more so—to see him. Suddenly conscious of the bottle in his hand, Peeta stuffed it into his coat quickly, but judging by the way her eyes hardened and her lips thinned, she had seen. Groaning inwardly, he headed toward the exit, trying not to stare at her and Gale, and when he passed them, he waved casually. "Hello, Katniss, Gale," he said, sure the quiver in his voice betrayed him.

Katniss eyed him strangely, but Gale nodded curtly. "Mellark." Peeta stifled an urge to roll his eyes. Not that they had ever been on friendly terms, but Gale had been fairly hostile toward him since he turned from the games. Peeta didn't understand why; Gale had gotten the girl, not him. Peeta made to keep walking, but Katniss' voice pulled him up short.

"Is that for Haymitch?" she asked, looking pointedly at the lump in his coat where he had hidden the alcohol.

"Yes," he answered without even thinking about it. He didn't know why he lied, but he didn't think he could stand it if she were to judge him, if anyone were to judge him. They didn't, _couldn't_ understand.

Katniss' eyebrow twitched with disbelief, and she shifted her game bag off her shoulder to rest it on the ground. "Is he too drunk to get his own alcohol or something?"

Unexpectedly, his mouth twisted into a lopsided smile. "You jest, but yes, he is. He's rarely conscious during the day."

"And, what, you pick it up for him now?" she needled, and he bristled. He didn't know why her words bothered him, but they did. The corners of his mouth spasmed, and he ran a hand through his hair.

"Well, everyone needs a friend," he replied quietly. Her face softened abruptly, her mouth parting in a wordless response. Peeta lifted his hand in parting, eager to leave her disconcerting presence and escape into his empty house with his bottle of vodka. "I'll see you two around."

He didn't wait for a response, hurrying out of the Hob to the Victor's Village, Gale's indecipherable whispers following him all the way home. Peeta kicked the snow off his boots before he walked through the door of his house. Silence greeted him, punctuated by the creaking wood under his steps as he stalked to the kitchen, sliding the bottle out of his coat and slamming it down on the kitchen table. Sweat broke out along his hairline, and he swiped his frigid fingers over his forehead then shrugged off his heavy coat. It was winter outside, but his house was toasty, warmed by a central heating system he hadn't quite gotten used to. His old house didn't have this kind of technology—no houses but those in the Victor's Village did—but the bakery didn't need it; their house had always been relatively warm enough, nestled above the warmth of the bakery ovens. Peeta grabbed a glass from the cupboard, then sat down at the table and poured himself some vodka. When the glass was halfway full, he set the bottle down, but he didn't drink yet. Tracing his finger over the rim of the cup, he stared at the clear liquid apprehensively.

He had drunk before but always with Haymitch. On the nights when he couldn't sleep, he wandered over to Haymitch's house for company. The man was never without a bottle or cup of liquor in his possession; he swore it was the only way he could sleep, but Peeta could hear the unspoken subtext: It was the only way he could numb the pain. One night, with the pain of Rue's death fresh in his soul, a scab picked raw by nightmares, Peeta drank the glass of whiskey Haymitch offered him—and he drank a second one, and a third. He woke up on Haymitch's couch the next morning, his head pounding, his stomach roiling, and as he puked up the previous night's poison into the kitchen sink, he swore he'd never drink again.

But the next particularly horrible day he had, when all he could think about was Coralie and the terror she must have felt when Cato loomed in on her, he found himself at Haymitch's again, staring at the bottom of his fourth drink—a Boulevardier, Haymitch had called it; he'd gotten fancy. It was a vicious cycle. Peeta always hated himself the day after a night of drinking, but he didn't know if that hate was any worse than what he felt toward himself on any other day. It was worth it, though, because those nights, when he slipped into an alcohol-induced slumber, he didn't recall dreaming anything at all.

Grasping the glass in his hand, Peeta raised it to his lips; he hesitated briefly, but the thought of his mother tipped his hand up, draining the liquor into his mouth. It burned, and he swallowed the vodka painfully. It needed ice, but he made no move to get any; instead, he downed the rest of the drink.

Then he poured himself another one.

 

A few days later, Peeta ventured into the Seam, as he did every Thursday. It was late in the morning, but all the kids were in school, their parents working, so he could traverse this side of town without notice or question. Under his arm he had tucked two loaves of bread, wrapped in a linen cloth. He kept his head down just in case, anyway, the collar of his coat turned up to shield himself from both the cold air and any curious eyes.

He stopped a few feet from the Langley house. It was a small shack, really, in utter disrepair, as all the Seam houses were. It was too small for its many occupants, Peeta knew—but with Coralie's death, there was one less person to take up space. His former district partner had shared the cramped living quarters with her parents and three older brothers; the oldest had already married and moved out.

Soundlessly, Peeta set the bread down on their door step and quickly hurried off. He couldn't face them; he had spoken to them once, after he had returned from the games, to offer his condolences on the loss of their daughter, to apologize for not being able to save her. But their eyes had been hollow, and Peeta was overcome with shame for having failed Coralie, for being alive while she wasn't. He knew it wasn't much—it couldn't fill the hole left by their daughter—but he had taken to leaving them bread every week. It was an unsatisfactory consolation, but the bread was always gone when he came around every week, so he hoped the food was of some help, at least.

On his way back to town, Peeta passed by the Everdeen household. Katniss and Prim weren't there, but he tried to keep his eyes trained ahead of him when he walked by, as if he couldn't feel _her_ overwhelming presence radiating from their residence, as if he didn't want to wrap himself up in her pervasive existence. Movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention, however, and he looked up at her house despite himself, spying Prim's goat in the small pin next to their house. The goat had noticed him and had crept up to the gate, poking her nose through the gaps in the wood. Peeta couldn't help but smile. Sometimes, when he passed their house, he'd noticed how thin the goat was looking, and he had taken to bringing grain with him on his trips to Coralie's house to feed the goat when she looked particularly pathetic. It being winter, the Everdeens probably had very little to feed her.

Sidling up to the pin, Peeta whispered a quiet greeting to the goat, pulling some grain from his pocket and holding it under her nose. She bleated as she nudged his hand then buried her muzzle in his palm, chomping at the grains. He pulled out another handful, and once she had finished off the last of that, he gently petted her nose. "Sorry, girl, that's all I got," he whispered, and she bleated again. With a final pat on her head, he carried on his way. Back in the center of town, he passed through the Merchant quarters. Passing by the bakery, he stopped and peered through the windows. He could see Rye in the front, assisting a customer. His mother was at the register. Peeta didn't see his father, but he knew he was in the back, baking with Barm. Gritting his teeth, Peeta forced himself to look away and keep walking.

"Peeta!"

His head swiveled in the direction of his name, and his eyes widened at the person approaching him. "Madge, hi," he said, and she stopped in front of him. "You're not in school?"

She shook her head. Though partially obscured by her fur-lined hood, her eyes looked sad. "My mother is really ill today. Her medicine from the Capitol hasn't come in yet, and my dad is dealing with some official business, so I stayed home to help look after her. I was just at the apothecary to see what I could get to help her."

Peeta knew her mother suffered from migraines, a debilitating illness that left her mostly bedridden. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Madge smiled weakly, shrugging. "Are you not working today?" she asked, motioning to the bakery, and his face hardened.

"No," he said, leaving it at that, and Madge just nodded. Unexpectedly, she looped her arm through his and fell in step beside him.

"Walk with me?" she asked, and he nodded. They headed in the direction of the mayor's house. "So how are you doing, Peeta?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "Okay, I guess."

"And your new house?"

"You'll have to ask it yourself," he replied, and she laughed lightly. He smiled at the sound; it was almost a foreign sound. He used to make people laugh all the time, but lately, since his return from the games, most of them didn't really know how to act around him anymore. He didn't know how to act around them, either, if he was being honest.

He and Madge used to be closer; though their situations were different, they had been linked by a similar sort of pain that only mothers could cause, and they understood that about each other. As they got older, though, he got more popular, and she, more withdrawn. She wasn't shy, necessarily; she just didn't like to talk much, only to a select few people, and their circle of friends didn't really overlap anymore. He wasn't surprised when she started hanging out with Katniss at lunch time; they looked nothing alike, but they shared a quiet, reserved nature.

Peeta was suddenly awashed with guilt at having let his friendship with Madge erode. Unbidden, he thought of how she came to see him after the reaping, of the pin she had given him. "Madge, I—I'm sorry, about your pin. I wish I had it to return to you, but I gave it...I didn't bring it back with me." He thought of Rue, and he wondered if the Capitol had let her family keep the pin he had fastened to her clothes right before the hovercraft lifted her lifeless body from the arena.

Madge gave him a long sideways glance. "Don't apologize, Peeta. I gave the pin to you as a gift. I wanted you to keep it, but I'm glad you gave it to Rue. I thought it was beautiful what you did for her," she said softly, and Peeta swallowed the lump in his throat. They were quiet for a moment until Madge broke the silence. "My father told me it's become quite the fashion statement in the Capitol, the pin. People started wearing replicas of it after the games. I also heard some people in a few districts have even started putting the mockingjay on clothes and other items."

The thought was strange, that he had inadvertently started some kind of fashion trend, and he didn't quite know what to make of it. When they reached Madge's house, she let go of his arm, but she sat down on the steps in front of him, patting the seat next to her, so he sat beside her. It was good to be off his leg; it ached more in the cold weather, and he tired on it more easily during his walks across town.

Madge was giving him an odd look, an amused smile on her face. "It's kind of funny, if you think about it. Capitol citizens adorned in the mockingjay symbol." When he stared at her blankly, she raised an eyebrow. "Do you know what a mockingjay is?"

Peeta tried to think about what he knew of the mockingjay; aside from the fact that they could sing, he guessed he didn't know much about them. It wasn't a subject he recalled learning in school. He shook his head.

"The mockingjay is the offspring of the jabberjay and the mockingbird. It was born of the rebellion," Madge explained, and Peeta's heart stuttered at the word for some reason. "You know what jabberjays are, right? The Capitol tried to get rid of them all, but they didn't anticipate them breeding with other birds. Now mockingjays are practically everywhere."

Peeta nodded, lost in thought. Somehow, this made him uneasy. The mockingjay pin seemed harmless enough, but he knew he was already on President Snow's radar because of the things he had said and done in the games. Peeta had a feeling that having his city overrun with reminders of Peeta's defiance only enraged the president more.

"The pin was my aunt's," Madge continued quietly. "She was in the Hunger Games, too. The Quarter Quell, with Haymitch."

Peeta looked at her in surprise. "I'm so sorry, Madge. I had no idea," he murmured, and she smiled slightly.

"Thank you. It's okay. Her name was Maysilee. She was my mother's twin. I suspect her death is what really ails my mother. She's never really been able to get over it."

Grabbing her gloved hand in his, Peeta squeezed her fingers reassuringly, and Madge leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. "I'm really glad you came back, Peeta. You're a good person—I've always known that about you. This world needs more people like you," she said firmly, and he was at a loss for words. He thought he should ask her if she needed to get back inside to her mother, but he was enjoying her company. When was the last time he'd had the comfort of a female presence? Delly was his best friend, but she was so sad now whenever she looked at him, like he was broken, like her life was irretrievably changed because he had been ruined by the games. He guessed having her best friend be reaped and survive the Hunger Games was the worst thing that had ever happened to her; he thought she was lucky in that respect.

What he really wanted was Katniss' company, but he knew that was out of the question. She had Gale Hawthorne to keep her company, to entertain her, to hold her hand, to kiss her. It was with this thought that he found himself pressing his lips against Madge's. He wasn't sure who initiated the kiss, but when she slipped her tongue into his mouth, he stopped thinking. The kiss was awkward at first, a flurry of cold lips and teeth—Peeta had done this before, fooled around with a few girls in his class, and more, but the action seemed alien to him now; he hadn't thought about kissing anyone in a while, his mind preoccupied with much more horrible things. And he hadn't kissed anyone since Katniss, just a fleeting touch of lips that burned vividly in his mind now. He tried not thinking about her lips in this moment, how soft they were, how warm and full they felt. _Madge,_ he was kissing Madge, he reminded himself.

She pulled back breathlessly, her cheeks flushed. "Do you want to come inside?" she asked urgently, and he nodded mutely. She led him by his hand through her front door, and it was the warmth of the foyer that brought him back to himself.

"What about your mother?" he asked in a hushed voice, but she was already unbuttoning her jacket.

"I could only find some coriander seed. It won't help her migraines, really; she's used to stronger stuff from the Capitol. I'll fix it for her later," she said quietly, removing her coat and hanging it up. She was already leading him up the stairs when he pulled her to a stop.

"Your—your dad?" he asked nervously, and she shook her head.

"Away on business."

Numbly, he followed her up the stairs and into her bedroom. Madge shut the door behind him and made quick work of his coat. Then her body was pressed against his, her hands gripping his shoulders as she opened her mouth over his. His body reacted almost instantly to the feel of hers, and he groaned around her tongue. He clutched at her waist, holding her close; she guided his hand to her breast, and he squeezed the small mound reflexively. Breaking the kiss, Madge pulled his sweater over his head and then his undershirt, and she began unbuttoning her dress. Peeta watched her dumbly until the dress pooled around her feet, and she stood before him in her bra and wool tights. She was still wearing her wet snow boots, and they looked out of place against the delicate material of her underclothes. He wanted to laugh at the sight; she must have caught the amusement on his face because she blushed, ducking her head shyly. "Don't laugh," she said, slipping her boots off and rolling her tights down.

"I'm not," he whispered, raking his eyes over her nearly naked body. "You're very pretty." She moved toward him again, and his eyes lingered on the curve of her hips, her breasts. But as she kissed him again, he couldn't help but imagine what Katniss looked like underneath her too-big hunter's clothes, if her ribs and hipbones still stuck out painfully from malnutrition or if her body had finally filled out like Madge's had, if her stomach was taut, her hips flared. He wondered if her breasts would fit nicely in his hands, if they would pucker under his fingers like Madge's did now. In school, he had often noticed the swell of Katniss' breasts under her worn shirts; they were a modest size, but in a way, they gave him comfort, seeing them develop gradually and knowing she was eating, that she had enough food to nourish and sustain her body. He could rest a little easier at night, knowing she was no longer starving, no longer dying, but many nights, when he found himself thinking about her breasts, it was more than just comfort he felt, and he touched himself with an urgency, relieving himself to the thought of her naked, lithe, well-nourished body.

It was still Katniss' lips he felt against his, her breasts he imagined under his hands, when Madge shook him from his reverie, sliding his zipper down and pushing his pants past his hips. Peeta blanched and seized her wrists suddenly, pulling back to look at her flushed face. "Madge, I—I'm sorry, I shouldn't. I mean, I want to, it's just...I'm thinking of someone else, and that's not fair to you," he whispered, licking his lips.

She stared at him, wide-eyed, but then she dropped her eyes. "Peeta...I know," she said quietly, and he was surprised, though he shouldn't have been. It wasn't like his feelings for Katniss were a secret anymore. Madge looked up at him. "You don't have to feel bad for my sake. I'm not upset that you want another girl. You're not the only one here who's trying to forget someone."

He blinked, searching her face. He noticed the sadness that haunted her eyes. He wanted to ask her who it was she wanted to forget, but somehow, he knew. He thought he could recall the longing glances she would shoot in Gale's direction whenever he came around to talk to Katniss at school. It was funny, really, how hung up the two of them were on the inseparable hunters from the Seam. Perhaps, at least for a little while, they could help each other forget they weren't with the ones they really wanted.

Pursing his lips together, he leaned down to kiss her again, and she returned it eagerly. Once his pants were off, they tumbled to her bed, Peeta apologizing for his leg and his clumsiness, but Madge shushed him. Soon they were sliding against each other naked, panting into each other's necks. When he pushed into her, at first he imagined it was Katniss trembling under him, but before long it was too hard to focus on anything other than the pleasure coursing through his body. It didn't even sting that it was Gale's name sticking in her throat when she came.

Afterwards, he thought about how nice it was to feel something other than misery and a gaping emptiness.


	2. Chapter 2

**ii. And you run from me like I'm the edge of death**

Fresh from their hunting trip, Katniss and Gale slogged through the newly fallen snow with their game bags thrown over their shoulders. Though the snow was new, it was already tinged gray from the ever-present veil of coal dust that shrouded District 12. They first ventured into the Hob to make some trades with their kills. Then they headed toward the Merchant quarters to swap the rest of their game.

It was Sunday morning, about the only day of the week Katniss got to see Gale these days, since he started work in the mines. They never talked about his time in the mines; Gale never brought it up, and Katniss never really wanted to hear about it. They shared a mutual abhorrence of the coal mines since their fathers' deaths, but Gale needed the money to help with his family. Sometimes, she made herself sick with worry thinking, about the many things that could happen to Gale while down in the mines. But she knew she didn't need to discuss those concerns with him; he thought about those things, too.

As they made their way to the center of town, Katniss glanced at her friend. "Do you think you'll eventually take Rory out to the woods to teach him how to hunt?" Now that you're down in the coal mines most of the time, were the words she left unspoken.

Gale lifted his shoulder in a shrug. "Eventually, I guess. Don't know that right now's the best time."

"Why not?" she asked.

He looked uncomfortable. "Well, I really only get the one day a week to hunt. I'd like to be able to hang out with you in relative peace," he said, flashing her a handsome smile.

Katniss almost stopped walking, his response catching her off guard. She shot him a confused look. "But you're always only going to have just one day a week to show him," she reminded him. She didn't understand what he meant by hanging out with her in relative peace, or why it mattered that much; mainly, she didn't want to think about it too much. He was always saying such cryptic offhanded remarks these days that left her feeling uneasy and uncomfortable.

Gale sighed. "I know. I think I'll wait till summer, when there's more game out," he muttered. Katniss nodded and left it at that. They stopped by the apothecary for a few medicinal herbs her mother had run out of at home, then they moved on to the bakery.

Already, Katniss was on edge as Gale knocked on the back door. She curled her frozen fingers into fists, trying to warm them up. When they came to trade with the baker these days, she was always nervous. The baker was nice to them and bartered fairly, but ever since the games and the weird stuff that happened with her and Peeta after his return, she was embarrassed of what his father probably thought of her; she knew his mother absolutely hated her, especially after the interview she'd done where she essentially announced her abuse of Peeta to the whole country, though it was already an open secret in the district. Mrs. Mellark could barely contain her disdain for the Seam girl even with all the cameras around; Katniss didn't want to know how she'd act or what she'd say now that no one was watching and judging their family.

Mostly, Katniss was apprehensive about seeing Peeta. He never traded with her and Gale, but she'd often see him over his father's shoulder, watching her with an unreadable look in his eye. He would try to smile at her, but she'd just drop her gaze to the ground and wait for Gale to finish the trade, offering a meek parting to the baker when they left. Ever since their conservation at his house in the village, where he told her their romance was just for the games, she'd barely been able to look him in the eye, opting to give him the cold shoulder instead; it was just easier that way. He had embarrassed her, and she hated being reminded of that every time she looked at him. The few words they had exchanged in the Hob last week was the most they had spoken in months.

The door swung open, and the baker's smiling face greeted them. "Good morning, you two. Lovely day, isn't it?" he chatted good-naturedly. As he and Gale bartered over a rabbit, Katniss tried to keep her eyes trained on the baker's apron, but she found her gaze shifting to peer over his shoulder. But it wasn't Peeta she saw; his older brother, Rye, was in the back with his father, putting a loaf into the oven.

She frowned slightly; this was the second Sunday in a row that Peeta wasn't at that bakery. Before last weekend, he was at his parents' bakery almost every day, especially Sundays. What was he doing if he wasn't working at the bakery? She hated herself, just a little, that she even cared to know.

After Gale had swapped the rabbit for three loaves of bread, they headed back to the Seam. As they wrapped back around to the front of the bakery, Katniss inconspicuously glanced through the windows of the storefront. Still no Peeta. Odd. Gale gave her one of the loaves and made to split a second one with her, but she told him it wasn't necessary; she had more game left than he did, so she directed him to keep the extra bread. When they were closer to home, they split off to go to their separate houses; he waved goodbye, and she smiled warmly in parting. She was almost to her house when she slowed to a stop. Weighing the game bag in her hand, she glanced behind her; Gale was out of sight. Hesitating only briefly, Katniss turned back around and began walking back to town.

It was quite a trek to the Victor's Village, especially in the winter air. Her lungs burned from the multiple hikes through town by the time she reached the village. Standing at the foot of his porch, she observed the striking façade of Peeta's two-story house. It was late morning by this point, but it didn't look like any lights were on inside. Not sure that he was even home, she decided to knock anyway. Bounding up the front steps, she dropped her bag on the porch and knocked loudly. After a couple of minutes, she was about to knock again, but the door finally creaked open, and Katniss held her breath.

Peeta's disheveled hair peeked around the door first, and he stared bleary-eyed at her. His jaw went slack as he realized who it was, and shock registered on his sleep-creased face. She shifted uncomfortably under his stare, suddenly forgetting what she had come for.

He opened the door wider, rubbing a hand over his face. "Uhh—" he started to say but didn't seem to have a follow-up.

She took in his current state of dress: a white, wrinkled undershirt and flannel pajama pants. She must have woken him up; sleeping till noon didn't seem like him. "You weren't at the bakery," she said accusingly, immediately cringing at her choice of words. That didn't come out how she wanted it to. "I mean...you haven't been at the bakery lately. I noticed."

His expression dropped, and he looked over her shoulder. After a few beats, he finally responded, "No, I don't work there anymore."

That surprised her. She wasn't sure what to say to that, so she glanced around nervously before she remembered; she lifted up her game bag. "Well, I thought you might want to trade then. For some fresh meat."

When she looked at his face, she noticed his mouth started to spread into a smile. But then he frowned abruptly. "I don't—I don't have anything to trade though. I mean, I haven't baked anything today," he stammered, blushing, probably at the admission that he had still been asleep before she stopped by.

"Oh." Katniss pursed her lips thoughtfully.

His eyes lit up then. "But I can pay you! For whatever you want to give me. Is that okay?" he asked eagerly.

It was weird trading with someone who actually had money; everyone else paid her in food or medicine or whatever other items they had that she needed. "Yeah, I guess that would be fine."

Nodding, Peeta stepped aside. "You must be cold. Do you want to come inside for a moment? I need to get the money," he said, his hand twisting the doorknob distractedly. Katniss lingered on the porch, wanting to turn him down, but she was cold; the warmth of his house was very enticing. Finally, she shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. "Okay."

She stepped inside, the heat ensconcing her, and she shuddered at the nearly instantaneous relief warming her frozen extremities. At her house, she'd have to spend at least half an hour in front of the fireplace with Prim rubbing the feeling back into her hands and feet before she would start to feel warm again. Peeta closed the door behind her and moved to stand in front of her. He looked at her intently, and they stood in silence for a moment, Katniss shifting from foot to foot. His stare was unnerving, and she was glad her cheeks were already red from the cold.

She cleared her throat, and that seemed to snap him from his trance. "Oh, right! The money!" he exclaimed, his neck flushing, and he shuffled out of the room. Katniss listened to the heavy tread of his prosthetic as he moved around out of sight, and she ran her fingers over her braid idly as she waited.

He reappeared, a handful of coins clutched in his fist. Smiling, he held it out to her, and her eyes widened at the sheer amount of money he was proffering. "Um, don't you want to know what I've got first?" she nearly squeaked, and his eyes widened.

"Oh, um, right. Yeah, okay. Well, what do you have?" he asked, eyeing her bag, and she untied it, reaching inside to pull out a rabbit.

"Snowshoe hare," she explained lamely, holding it out to him to consider, but he was already nodding and holding out the fistful of money again.

"That's perfect. I'll take it."

She gawked at his offer a second time. "Peeta...that's way too much. I can't—I can't accept that much money," she admonished, flustered.

"Oh." He eyed the coins in his hand, then ran his other hand through his unruly hair. He smiled at her sheepishly. "Sorry, I'm terrible at this. This is why they rarely let me work the register at the bakery. I guess you tell me what's a fair price then."

She furrowed her eyebrows at his hand thoughtfully. She wasn't used to dealing in actual currency. "I guess...one coin? Maybe two?" she said, unsure.

With a small smile, he dropped a few coins in his free hand and held them out to her. "How about three then, just to be safe?"

Katniss narrowed her eyes at him. "I can't—you don't have to do that."

His face softened. "It's fine. I have more money than I know what to do with, really. Just think of it as thanks for, for even thinking of trading with me in the first place. Please," he insisted, his voice pleading.

With a begrudging sigh, she relented and accepted the coins from him. She tried to ignore the way her stomach twisted when his fingers brushed against her palm. "Okay," she said, holding the rabbit out to him. He grabbed it by its ears, pocketing the other coins in his pants.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, and she nodded in response. Slinging the bag back over her shoulder, Katniss glanced at his face, but he was scrutinizing the hare, holding it at arm's length.

"What's the problem?" she demanded, feeling defensive. What was wrong with her kill?

His eyes darted between her and the animal in his hand; he looked embarrassed. "Um. My dad usually...I have no idea how to prepare this."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Seriously?" He nodded, smiling apologetically. With a sigh, Katniss dropped her game bag, snatched the rabbit back from him and stalked into the kitchen, Peeta right behind her. "You don't have to—" he began to argue, but she tossed it down on the kitchen table and turned to him.

"Get me a knife."

Peeta wavered but relented, moving to the counter to pilfer through a drawer. When he returned with a knife, he noticed her staring at the empty liquor bottle on his table. Abashed, he grabbed the bottle and dropped it into the trashcan with a loud clank. Taking the knife from him, Katniss glanced at his face, but he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck roughly. Now she knew why he had still been asleep this morning.

Scowling, she flipped the rabbit onto its back and, pinching the fur around its belly, she cut into it with the knife. Peeta leaned back against the counter to watch her as she began ripping the skin from the body. Once she had the fur removed, she methodically snapped off the feet and chopped the head off with a clean swipe of the knife. Gathering the fur and the limbs together in a pile, she finally looked at Peeta as she cut into the rabbit's gut to remove its innards. "Do you want to keep the fur?" Her question trailed off as she noticed him rubbing a hand over his brow, a pained look on his pale face.

Shaking his head, Peeta kept his eyes on the ground. His breathing was labored. "No. You—you can keep it if you want." He stood up abruptly, and she noted how sweaty he looked. "I'm sorry—I'm not feeling well."

He rushed out of the room, Katniss gawking after him. She looked down at the rabbit and the table. Had the sight of her butchering and cleaning the rabbit bothered him? Maybe he was hungover. She rolled her eyes; Peeta Mellark was soft. She forgot he had subsisted on bread and pastries for most of his life. She had been gutting animals since she was old enough to shoot a bow and arrow.

As she pulled out the rabbit's guts, though, she noticed the blood on her hand and was struck with a terrible thought: What if she had inadvertently triggered a flashback to the games? Horrified, she quickly disposed of the innards, the head and the feet, and stuffed the skin in her game bag (she didn't want to waste it; her mother could turn them into a pair of gloves or socks for Prim). By the time Peeta returned to the kitchen, she had wiped off the table and the knife, leaving no evidence of the game she had just cleaned.

"I put the rabbit in some salt water to soak. It's in your refrigerator," she said quietly. He nodded, offering her a weak, chagrined smile.

"Thank you," he said softly. "For helping. I'm sorry I ran out...like that."

Katniss pursed her lips, tugging thoughtlessly on her braid. "It's okay. I didn't know it would bother you...sorry."

He shrugged, leaning against the wall. "Me either, honestly." Stuffing a hand in his pocket, he pulled out some money and moved to give it to her. "Here, for cleaning the rabbit—"

She held up her hands. "No! I mean, no, it's fine, really. I didn't—I don't mind, honestly." They locked eyes in a mutual standoff, the longest they had made eye contact in a while. Finally, with a curt nod, Peeta pocketed the coins.

"Well, thank you, again," he said, and Katniss bowed her head, stepping around him to grab her bag and leave. Before she reached the door, however, she turned back to him, a thoughtful look on her face.

"I could help you with the game. I mean, I could trade with you on Sundays, if you're going to be here, and clean the game for you. If you want," she finished quickly, staring at an unruly curl sticking straight out on the side of his head.

Surprised, he stared at her wordlessly for a moment before he nodded eagerly, a pleased smile curving his lips. "Yeah, okay. I would like that." He paused then added, "I'll make sure to bake things for you from now on, if you'd prefer."

"All right," she agreed. His smile widened, and she felt the corner of her mouth turn up in a halfhearted attempt.

 

For the next few weeks, they had a routine; after she had finished her trading in town with Gale, she brought the last of her game to trade with Peeta. While she cleaned and prepared the game, he would finish baking whatever treat she had requested that week. Once it was chocolate chip cookies; another time it was cheese and apple tarts. He always insisted she take the whole batch, and after much prodding, she would finally relent.

This Sunday, she had asked him if he could bake some cheese into some bread; gladly, he rolled some shredded cheddar into a dozen crescent rolls. He made her try one before she left so he could know how she liked them.

Her eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head as she chewed, and then she covered her mouth in embarrassment. "It's really good," she mumbled around her mouthful, swallowing thickly. "I think this is my favorite."

Peeta beamed at her in gratitude. She told him to keep some for himself, but he demurred, saying he could always make another batch. As she scarfed down the rest of her roll, he looked at her seriously. "Um, just to let you know, I won't be here next Sunday," he said, and when she flashed him a curious look, he elaborated, "Victory Tour."

"Oh. Right," she said softly. Sometimes it was almost easy to forget he had won the Hunger Games all those months ago. For her, anyway. She doubted he ever forgot. "Are you...looking forward to it?"

He snorted, fidgeting with his oven mitt. "Like I'm looking forward to a hole in my head," he joked, and she smiled slightly.

"And...how long will you be gone?"

"A couple weeks, maybe three, I think. I haven't really thought about it much," he said, and she nodded absently. "I can bake you some extra things to eat while I'm gone, if you'd like."

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. "No, that won't be necessary. I think we can manage without," she said, and he bowed his head in acceptance. She knew she should leave, as she had finished preparing his game, and the rolls were done, but she lingered at the kitchen table, searching for an excuse to stay and talk longer. She felt silly, but suddenly the prospect of not seeing him for nearly a month made her ache in an odd way. "So...what is your talent going to be? That you're going to showcase on the tour since you don't have to go to school or work? Baking? Decorating cakes?" she asked, picking at the flaky crust of a cheese bun.

Peeta's face lit up, and he smiled slightly. "Actually, I started painting," he said softly, and she raised her eyebrows. "I've been able to buy a bunch of the supplies from the Capitol. It's kind of exciting; I've always wanted to paint."

"Really? Are you any good?" she teased, surprising them both with her tone.

He chuckled. "Well, I certainly hope so, or this tour is going to be pretty embarrassing."

With a small smile, Katniss stared at the wood grain of the kitchen table, wondering if she dared ask. "Could I...see your paintings?" she inquired tentatively.

She heard his sharp intake of breath and instantly regretted her request, but he nodded slowly. "Sure," he said, standing up from the table. "I haven't shown them to anyone yet, actually. They're kind of...well, you'll see." His face looked grim, and he beckoned for her to follow him. He led her up the stairs down a hallway, and she silently marveled at the sprawling expanse of the house—and he had it all to himself. The thought made her sad. She couldn't imagine living in such a large house without at least Prim's presence; what would she do if she didn't wake up to her little sister curled tightly against her chest in the tiny bed they shared?

They stopped in front of the door of a closed off room, and Peeta gave her an apprehensive look before he twisted the knob and pushed the door open. Immediately, Katniss was taken aback by the sheer number of paintings that filled the room—littered over the floor in piles, hung up on the walls, propped up in easels. Then she registered the actual content of the paintings. It was the games; he had painted the games. She took a step into the room, feeling both eager and wary; she couldn't believe how real it all looked. Peeta hovered by the doorway as she surveyed his work: There was Coralie hanging from a tree, Clove playing with her knives, Glimmer and Marvel arguing, Glimmer and Cass fighting off tracker jackers, Cato fending off the mutts, and Rue—Rue was everywhere. Smiling bashfully from a crouched position in the woods, sitting in a tree, singing to the birds, sleeping curled up in the cave, staring lifelessly at the sky as blood poured from her neck.

After a few minutes of silence, Peeta asked, "What do you think?" She looked back at him as he stared at the door frame, trailing a finger over the wood.

"They're horrible," she said honestly. "I mean, they're magnificent and so—just incredibly well done. But...they're painful to look at."

He nodded thoughtfully, finally looking up at her. "I know. They're in my head all the time. I paint to get them out. But they're always in my nightmares," he said softly.

She stared at him, the agony in his eyes palpable. "I understand about the nightmares," she murmured, fidgeting with her braid nervously. "I still...dream about my father. In the mines..." His forehead creased with sympathy, but he said nothing else. She was grateful. It still pained her to talk openly about her father's death.

Venturing closer to a painting of Rue, the one of her singing to the mockingjays, she considered it for a moment. "I think this is my favorite." There was an expression of peace, of pure, unadulterated happiness on the little girl's face, and it seemed right to remember her like that. "I think you did right by her, as much as you could—given the situation," she told him sincerely.

Peeta leaned his forehead against the door frame, closing his eyes in pain. She left him to his thoughts and walked around the rest of the room, observing the paintings up close. There was a pile on the floor, covered by a white sheet, and she stooped to peek under it.

"Oh—wait, don't—" Peeta started frantically, but Katniss had already seen what was underneath. Flabbergasted, she tossed the sheet aside to reveal the canvases underneath. They were paintings of her. From the reaping, in the Justice Building, at the train station, at the victor celebrations, in town walking with Prim, at school holding a dandelion, under the apple tree in the rain. After a tense moment, she looked at him, stunned. He was cringing, his face blushing a deep red.

"Why—" her voice cracked, and she tried again, "Why are you painting me?"

He gestured wildly with his hands, floundering for the words. "I just—you—they're just images in my head. I..." He was at a loss. She was, too. It didn't make any sense for him to be painting her; he had pushed her away after he'd come back, and he told her the romance had been a farce, a plan concocted to help him win the games. And she understood that—she understood she needed to play along with the charade for his sake in front of the cameras, but she had at least thought his feelings, the things he had said about her, were real. Until he insinuated they weren't, and she had been too humiliated to acknowledge him or what had happened since then. So why was he painting her? Why was she even a prolonged enough thought in his head to paint? He confused her. And that made her angry.

"I need to go home now," she said in a cool, detached voice. His face paled, but she was already brushing past him and practically sprinting down the hallway and the stairs.

"Katniss!" he called desperately, but she didn't turn around as she grabbed her stuff from the kitchen—she debated leaving the buns, but she thought of Prim and hastily shoved them into her bag. Hearing Peeta's heavy steps on the stairs, she bolted out the front door and didn't look back. "I'm sorry," she heard him calling weakly, but she gritted her teeth, ducked her head against the freezing wind and rushed home, leaving Peeta and his stupid paintings behind.


	3. Chapter 3

**iii. Close enough to start a war**

Peeta watched Effie's face uneasily as she observed his paintings. Her expression was wrought with worry and trepidation and something else Peeta didn't quite understand. She glanced at him nervously. "Are you sure these are the paintings you want us to film?" she asked, waving her hand at the images of horror and death. "Maybe you have something else, something more pleasant?"

He shook his head. "I haven't really painted anything else, Effie," he explained softly. That was a lie; he had all those paintings of Katniss, but after her strong reaction of recoil and disgust, he made sure to store them elsewhere, away from the eyes of his escort and the arriving ensemble from the Capitol.

Wringing her hands, she sighed and gestured to the camera crew. "Okay, fellows, get your shots," she commanded, and the cameramen filtered into the room to film. Effie left while Peeta hung back to narrate the shots of his work. She had tried to get him to write his descriptions down, but he didn't need cue cards; he knew exactly what he wanted to say about his paintings.

As they wrapped up filming, Haymitch wandered into the room, pausing in the doorway. He surveyed the paintings and let out a low whistle. Peeta could tell his mentor was drunk. "You really don't listen, do you, kid?" Haymitch stated wryly, shaking his head. He stepped aside as the cameramen left the room.

Sliding his hands into his pockets, Peeta raised an eyebrow at Haymitch. He knew Effie had sent him. "What do you mean?"

"When I told you to keep your head down and stay off Snow's radar, did you think I was joking?"

Peeta shrugged. "What's wrong with my paintings?" he asked, but he knew.

Haymitch stared at him dubiously. "I know you're not stupid, kid. So what's your angle?"

"I don't have an angle, Haymitch," he said. "I just paint what I know. What I feel. What I see every night. How are these paintings any different from what viewers see when they watch the games?"

"These will mean nothing to Capitol viewers, sure," Haymitch acquiesced, leaning against the door frame. "But they'll mean something to those in the districts. And to Snow."

Peeta's eyes lingered on the painting of Marvel's dying moments at his own hands. "Does Snow expect his victors to be unchanged by the games? To just sweep the consequences of their victory under the rug?" he posed bitterly.

"Don't be dense, kid," Haymitch growled, standing up straight. "Snow expects his victors to shut up and play according to his rules. Don't think for a second he'll let this offense go unpunished. You're putting your loved ones in danger. You might wanna watch your back, kid."

With that, Haymitch turned on his heel and stalked off, his warning reverberating in Peeta's head. Panic squeezed at him as he thought about his family, his friends. Katniss. But no, he had managed to push her away. Surely, Snow wouldn't target her, if he saw they had nothing to do with each other anymore. And his family was doing a good job of isolating themselves from him. Maybe it had been for the best, after all, if it ensured their safety. What could Snow even do to them? Why not just target Peeta specifically? Kill him off, if he really needed to get rid of the problem.

Still, his mentor's words left him uneasy. His eyes settled on the portrait of Rue singing to the birds. Katniss' favorite. Making up his mind, he wrapped it carefully in a sheet and tucked it under his arm before he eventually wandered downstairs where his stylist, Portia, and his prep team waited, ready to put the finishing touches on his look for the cameras as he kicked off the Victory Tour.

Portia bundled him in a thick coat, winding a soft, gray scarf around his neck. She tugged it up some so it shielded some of his ears, and she handed him a supple pair of black leather gloves. As he tugged them on his hands, Effie swished back into the living room, clapping her hands. "Are we ready? Let's get this show on the road!" she chirped in excitement, and her eyes lit up as she spun to face Peeta. "I just had a thought! We should get your little sweetheart, Katniss, to see you off. It'll be so sweet, you saying goodbye to your love as you embark on your tour of the districts! Maybe we could even get a shot of you two lovebirds kissing!"

Peeta stared at her, wide-eyed. Did they still expect them to carry on the charade of being in love? He had figured, _hoped_ , they would be over that story by now. He opened and closed his mouth wordlessly for a moment as his brain struggled to churn up a believable excuse. "Effie, I—we're not...Katniss is in school right now. She can't see me off."

His escort's face dropped. The sad expression looked ridiculous against the pink and orange palette of her face, the heart shape drawn on her lips drooping comically. But she brightened almost immediately, waving her hand dismissively. "That shouldn't be a problem; I'm sure the school officials can make an exception for you. You're pretty important now, after all."

Swallowing nervously, Peeta ran a gloved hand through his hair, and Portia immediately reprimanded him, swatting his hand away and fixing his styled hair back into place. "I don't think that's a good idea, Effie. Katniss has a younger sister, and their mother works all day, so Katniss has to look after her. If we pull Katniss out of school, then we'd have to pull her sister out, and I'd rather not disrupt their learning," he explained hurriedly, cutting Effie off when she made to protest, "I'm sure we could get a shot with Katniss when I return from the tour."

That seemed to mollify Effie slightly, and she finally relented. He just hoped she'd forget that suggestion by the end of the next few weeks, though he doubted she would. Maybe by that time he could come up with a better lie.

Effie sent a few assistants upstairs to his painting room to round up all the canvases to pack on the train, and then the entire entourage poured out of his house into the lightly falling snow and began trekking through the icy trails that led to the train station; the painting of Rue was snug under his arm. Effie chattered relentlessly as they walked, and, knowing the cameras were rolling, Peeta engaged himself in the conversation effortlessly, cracking jokes and making her and the stylists laugh. Haymitch was already on the train when they boarded, generously helping himself to the refreshments, and he gave Peeta a pointed look before knocking back a glass of whiskey. Peeta sighed; this was going to be an interesting trip.

 

The ride to District 11 took a day. Since the weather was warmer and they were farther south than District 12, Portia dressed him in slacks and a light, V-neck sweater with a white undershirt. As they prepared him to take the stage in front of Eleven's Justice Building to give a speech, fitting him with a microphone, he grew nervous. He had his statements already prepared, but the thought of facing Rue's family made him feel sick. How could he look them in the eye after what had happened to their daughter, whom he failed to protect? Did they hate him? He glanced apprehensively at the painting of Rue he had brought along, hoping desperately that they would appreciate his gesture.

When the district officials ushered him onto the stage, he was awestruck by the sheer number of people gathered before him. He knew District 11 was a big district, but the size of its population was incredible, especially compared to the 8,000 or so back home. His eyes scanned the faces of the crowd as the mayor spoke to the spectators and presented Peeta with a large plaque. On the side of the stage, a few paces away, stood Rue's family; the sight of her siblings, who so closely resembled her, knocked the air from his lungs. They watched him intently, and his knees buckled; if it weren't for his prosthetic, he might have collapsed right there on the stage. Swallowing thickly, he met each of their gazes directly, bowing his head to Rue's parents.

Then it was his turn to speak, and he shakily approached the podium. The words from his prepared speech seemed to fly right out of his mind, and he stared wordlessly at the crowd. His mouth was so dry. He could feel his heart rate increasing, his breathing getting ragged; he was afraid he was going to have a panic attack. Licking his lips, he opened his mouth and blurted the first words that came to his mind:

"I'm sorry."

He blinked, and his eyes found the faces of Rue's family and Thresh's family, who stood next to each other. "I'm so sorry your children are not here with you today. I'm so sorry that nothing I could do will ever bring them back. I can only hope that my words offer some sort of respite from the grief you must feel every day without them here. I hope..." he faltered, dropping his gaze to the podium. "I hope to live my life in a way that will honor both Rue's and Thresh's memories. Every day I am aware that my presence before you today, my very existence from this point on, is only possible because of their sacrifices, their deaths. That fact weighs on my mind every single day. I won't forget that."

Peeta looked back at Rue's family. Her mother was crying quietly as her husband comforted her; her siblings stared morosely at the ground. "The loss of Rue, especially, weighs on me. I only knew her for a couple days, but she will remain with me for a lifetime. I think of her every day. I hear her every time the birds sing. I see her smile in my dreams. In my memories, she is radiant. And that is how I will remember her always. I know it's not much, but I want to offer you a gift, a painting I made of Rue. I hope it will offer you some comfort in the moments when you miss her the most, as her memory does for me."

He picked up the painting and walked over to her family, extending the canvas to them. Her parents stared at it in stunned silence, and Peeta feared he had offended them, but then Rue's father took the painting from him, and her mother burst into more tears, grabbing him in a fierce hug. When she pulled back, her husband extended his hand to Peeta to shake. As he grabbed his hand, Peeta felt a hard, metal object being pressed into his palm, and when he withdrew his arm, he glanced down curiously, his jaw dropping slightly as he glimpsed the object.

His mockingjay pin. Wordlessly, he pocketed it, hoping the cameras hadn't picked it up. Rue's father held his gaze steadily for a moment, then bowed his head. "Thank you," he murmured, and Peeta nodded. He could feel the tears pricking at his eyes.

At that moment, Rue's four-note whistle rung out clearly among the crowd. Peeta's head twisted to find the source of the sound, and an elderly man toward the back of the gathering lifted his left hand in the familiar three-finger salute of District 12. Then, as if on cue, everyone in the crowd mimicked the gesture. Peeta stared in shock, startled from his stupor when he felt someone grab his arm. A peacekeeper. He turned him toward the door of the Justice Building, and Peeta followed the mayor and the other district officials back inside.

Dazed, he stumbled into the hallway before he pulled up short. He had left the plaque. He shuffled back to the door and stepped out on the verandah, but he froze as a couple of peacekeepers dragged the elderly man from a moment before to the center of the stage and forced him to his knees. Then they shot him in his head.

Peeta gave a startled cry as blood and bits of brain matter splattered the podium. The man's lifeless body slumped to the ground.

Suddenly, a few more peacekeepers converged in front of Peeta and shoved him back into the Justice Hall. "I'm going!" he snapped at them, shoving their hands off his arms. Trembling, he staggered into the hallway, where Haymitch and Effie awaited him. Effie looked perplexed, but Haymitch's face was grim.

"What was that sound?" Effie asked urgently, but Peeta just shook his head.

"Nothing, Effie. A truck backfired," he said shakily, glancing at Haymitch. At that moment, two more bullets were fired, the sound muffled by the closed doors, and Peeta blanched.

"You and I need to talk, kid," Haymitch said evenly, turning on his heel. Without another word, Peeta followed him as his mentor led him up a winding marble staircase and down a long hallway that dead-ended into an empty room. Haymitch turned back to Peeta and ripped the mic from his sweater, stuffing it under the plush cushions of a couch. Then he led him back into the hallway, up a few more twisting staircases and through more hallways. In another room, Haymitch climbed up a ladder to a trapdoor and forced the heavy metal door aside. It creaked loudly on its hinges as Haymitch disappeared through it, and Peeta followed him, stepping into the dome of the Justice Building.

When he closed the trapdoor, he looked to Haymitch expectantly. The older man fixed him with a questioning stare. "What happened out there?" he asked finally. Peeta told him, and once he had finished, Haymitch sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"What's going on, Haymitch?" Peeta asked quietly. "Why would they kill that man?" And why did that old man salute him? Why had they all?

"The Capitol doesn't like dissent, kid."

"Dissent? But...what was all that out there? Was that dissent? Against the Capitol? How?" Peeta demanded, his voice quivering. He felt like he was missing something big, something important.

"Do you remember what I told you before your last interview with Caesar?" he asked, and Peeta nodded slowly. "You're not making any friends in the Capitol, but in the districts...well, that's a different story." Peeta looked at him quizzically, and Haymitch continued cryptically, "I told you: You bucked the system."

"What does that mean, Haymitch?" he asked, frustrated. "What do you know about the districts?" Something struck him; he thought about the salute, the mockingjays, his pin being co-opted by Capitol citizens and district inhabitants alike. His heart rate sped up slightly. "Haymitch...what's been happening in the districts exactly? Have you heard things?" he asked urgently.

His mentor picked at his nails with a frown on his face. "There might be some feelings of unrest in a few districts. Some people are...discontent."

"Unrest..." Peeta repeated in amazement. "Does that mean...are people fighting back?"

Haymitch observed him quietly. "'Fighting back' is a little strong. I'd say there is anger and resentment bubbling just below the surface. This stunt you described with the crowd is the first instance I've heard of it boiling over."

Peeta mulled over his words. "So these things have been happening, you mean? This has been building. What does it have to do with me?" he asked, replaying the scene with the man and the peacekeepers. He could still vividly picture the man's brains decorating the podium. It made his stomach twist.

"You were a catalyst, I'd say. People were just waiting for a symbol. Those things you did in the games...People connected with you. You're that symbol, kid."

"But that man...People are being killed. Because of me. More people will be hurt because of me, won't they?"

Haymitch looked at him steadily. His face was bleak. "They will. And they know it's a possibility. But I think most of them have reached the point where they've accepted that, and they're willing to move forward, anyway."

Peeta was quiet for a moment. He thought about the people in District 11, the crowd who saluted him in tandem with the elderly man...Had that been planned? It was too well-executed not to be. He suddenly thought of his family and friends back home. "And what you warned me about, the people I love? What about them?" he asked feebly.

"Most assuredly, they'll be hurt too," Haymitch said gruffly, and he paused as Peeta digested the information. "It's a decision you'll have to make, whether you want to move forward in this direction with the movement or back off."

Peeta regarded his mentor critically. "And what do you recommend?"

Shaking his head, Haymitch crossed his arms over his chest. "You're young. Your head is in the right place. But if I thought you'd listen to me, I'd tell you to stop now. Keep your head down, your nose clean. Live a quiet life, devoid of any hint of rebellion."

Rebellion. The word startled Peeta, and he jumped on it immediately, "So—is there actually a rebellion happening, Haymitch? Do you know something?" he demanded. His voice had taken on a slight edge, one of hysteria.

Haymitch held up his hand, pinning the boy with a glare. "Don't make this decision based on hypotheticals. Think about yourself, the people you love. Are you willing to put them at risk? Do you think you can sacrifice them for a pipe dream, kid?"

No, absolutely not. He already knew that. But then...how could he ignore everyone else? What were the lives of a few when the lives of thousands were at stake? Didn't the needs of the many matter more than those of the few? But these few were people he knew, people he loved. He couldn't make that decision. He couldn't gamble with their lives on the mere hope of a better livelihood for the districts, a better world. Could he?

"I guess...I don't know, Haymitch," he said hoarsely, staring at an ornate lamp perched atop a dusty dresser. "I mean, aren't I still putting them at risk either way? Doesn't the Capitol hurt them no matter what I do? Aren't we always sacrificing ourselves? Doesn't the Capitol always force our parents to send their children off for slaughter? What's the trade off?"

Haymitch ran a hand through his dark hair, sighing. "You're smart, kid. Like I said, your head is in the right place. You just need to make sure your heart is there, too," he said, tapping the area over his own heart lightly. "I'm not going to tell you what to do. Just make sure, whatever you decide, you're ready to accept the consequences. I can tell you, even if you think you're ready—you're not."

With that, he motioned toward the door with his head, signaling the end of the discussion. Peeta trudged behind him as they descended the ladder and the many staircases and hallways that originally led them to the dome. His mind was still racing from their conversation, however, and he found himself moving in a haze; he wasn't even aware of his surroundings until they were seated in an armored truck, heading to their visiting quarters for the night. He noticed that everyone else was on edge, even Effie, who surely by now had to realize the sounds they'd heard earlier were in fact gun shots.

The memory of the man's brains splattering the podium captivated his mind again, and then, suddenly, he thought of Rue's family, and he was gripped by fear. Were those other gun shots meant for them? Had the peacekeepers seen the mockingjay pin her father had slipped him? Frantically, Peeta dug into his pocket and grasped the metal object in his hand. The action was oddly calming, but doubts about the safety of Rue's family still plagued him, even while Portia and her stylists readied him for that night's dinner.

Rue. Hadn't he promised to make her life mean something? But what had he done up to this point? Wallow in misery. Drink himself into numerous stupors in a vain attempt to numb himself to the effects of the games. Effects he had instigated by actions he had taken in the arena. Was he just a coward, then, running from his problems?

He had tried to do right by others his whole life. Sometimes, he failed. Other times, he felt cowed by his mother's wrath. But he had done some good, hadn't he? He had helped Katniss when she needed it. And he had tried to help Rue and Coralie, even Ester and Axel—he had tried, even though he had botched all those attempts in the end. But the gesture had to count for something, right? Why else would the people of District 11 care to oppose the Capitol just to show him solidarity? And what kind of person would he be if he simply turned his back on their gesture, shunned their efforts? Wouldn't he be betraying them, and Rue, if he didn't at least try to fight the Capitol, to defy the role he had been relegated to the moment Effie pulled his name from the reaping bowl?

He was barely aware of the rest of the night's proceedings; he went where he was told, responded when spoken to, shook hands with everyone who introduced themselves, smiled at whatever camera was shoved in his face. He kept his ears open for any rumblings of dissent at the dinner, but he heard none; he figured he wasn't likely to there. The gathering included district officials and the pertinent Capitol attendants; this was not the same crowd that greeted him in the District 11 square.

 

On the train the next day, as they headed toward their next destination of District 10, Effie presented him with a short, prepared speech provided by the Capitol. "Now, personally, I thought your speech in District 11 was absolutely moving, but the Capitol wants to make sure we stick to a strict schedule, which, of course, I fully agree with," she blabbered incessantly as Peeta smiled benignly. "The schedule is very important, you know. We do have 11 more districts plus the Capitol to get through in such a short amount of time!"

"Of course, Effie," he said as pleasantly as he could, reading over the paper she had given him. It was a stock speech, all of three sentences long. And absolutely devoid of anything that would smack of dissent.

For the most part, he adhered to it. As they traveled from district to district, he started to get a sense of which ones were in tune with the rebellious atmosphere of District 11. At first, Peeta wasn't sure the general sentiment extended beyond Eleven; Districts 9 and 10 were subdued, unaffected by his presence. But the moment he stepped onto the stage at District 8's Justice Building, he could sense it: a simmering rage that roiled through the crowd. Accepting the plaque from the mayor, he stepped up to the podium; his eyes swept over the crowd, and he was somewhat surprised but heartened by how determinedly everyone looked back at him.

"Thank you for the honor of being here in your district on this day," he recited from memory, looking to the fallen tributes' families on the side of the stage. "I thank you for your children, and I salute their courage and their sacrifice." Lingering on Ester's family, he hesitated only briefly before he continued, deviating from the script, "I want to apologize to Ester's family, specifically. I'm sorry I couldn't— _didn't_ do something more to help your daughter in the games." He didn't know what else he could say, so he finished lamely, "I'm just—incredibly sorry for the loss of your children."

As he was led away from the podium, he bowed his head to the two families, and they nodded sadly at him. On his way out, Haymitch and the rest of his team joined him; his mentor shot him an odd look, and his mouth twitched in a barely noticeable smile. Was that approval on the older man's face?

After that point, Peeta made sure to wear his mockingjay pin for every appearance he made in the districts. On his scarf, on his sweater, on his lapel. This time, he hoped the cameras picked it up. Madge had mentioned that the pin was a new fashion trend in the Capitol and that even some of the districts had co-opted the symbol—for what, he wasn't entirely sure, but his conversation with Haymitch had given him a vague idea that the mockingjay pin was a symbol of something far greater to the districts than just a new, trendy fad in the world of fashion.

During the remainder of his tour, only districts 3 and 4 hinted of unease and dissent, and he made sure to offer his sincerest apologies to Axel and Cass' families for his part in their deaths. As to whether they forgave him, he doubted it. He hadn't forgiven himself, so he didn't really expect their absolution—he knew it was unfair to even ask. But the crowds, they reacted with a barely subdued fervor that he knew, really, had very little to do with him. It left him practically breathless as he stood before them.

The Capitol was the last stop on the Victory Tour, at least before they headed back to District 12 for the wrap-up and the Harvest Festival. He was eager to return home; he just needed to make it through yet another interview with Caesar Flickerman and an extravagant dinner at President Snow's mansion. He was especially dreading the last event. The last time he had seen Snow was during his crowning after the games, but even now he could feel the man's cold, piercing eyes following him everywhere he went as his stylists prepared him for the day's festivities. Somehow, he didn't think the president would reflect too favorably on the mockingjay pin he still wore, and, whether motivated by tact or by fear, he decided against wearing it for that evening.

That evening, his interview with Caesar was going fairly well—until he was asked about Katniss. Peeta was momentarily blindsided, and he wanted to curse himself for not being prepared for questions about her; he should have known. But after their last meeting in his house, he had tried so hard to not think about her, to quash any stupid fancies that involved the two of them ever developing any kind of romantic relationship (they had only hesitantly entered friendship territory before he had flubbed that, again).

Stalling, Peeta laughed lightly. "Caesar, I've been a perfect gentleman. Or at least, her mother still thinks so," he joked, and the audience roared at the innuendo. Maybe he went too far there. "I can't say anything that might tarnish my pristine image, now can I?"

Caesar wasn't going to drop it, however. "But, my dear boy, you must give us something! We've all been simply dying for an update on the progress you've made with the girl you've been in love with all these years!" he chided, and Peeta felt his heart stutter.

_Love_. He couldn't believe Caesar had said it; he'd just laid it all out there. Surely, Katniss must be dying of humiliation back home at this very moment. She would never speak to him again after this. Having Caesar announce it to the world, before an audience of clueless Capitol citizens, is not how he had ever imagined telling Katniss he loved her.

"Well, we're taking it slow, Caesar," he said, trying to muster a tone of sincerity instead of the despair he felt coursing through his veins at that moment. "I'm afraid I can't say anymore, out of respect for her."

Caesar huffed playfully, but he smirked at Peeta, his eyes twinkling. "Well, I suppose if we're not going to be able to get anything out of you—we can just ask Katniss herself!"

The crowd gasped and immediately began applauding, screeching in excitement. Peeta stared at Caesar in horror and confusion, and the host gestured excitedly behind him. Craning his neck over his shoulder, his heart dropped to his stomach. President Snow had emerged from the wing, and walking next to him was Katniss. He almost didn't recognize her—she had clearly been given the Capitol treatment. Her olive skin had never looked so polished, her dark hair so shiny; the long tendrils, free from their usual braid, had been swept off her shoulders and pinned loosely around the crown of her head. Her skin seemed to shimmer where the lights touched—and there was a lot of exposed skin for the lights to touch. The gossamer material of her orange dress draped openly down her front, cutting into a V-shape almost to her navel. Her arms were bare, and high slits in her dress revealed the length of her legs as she strode toward him.

He almost didn't recognize her, if it weren't for the small scowl that adorned her lips. The rest of her face had been done up heavily. She would have been absolutely breathtaking, but the look of fear in her eyes made his stomach clench with dread. As they approached, Peeta rose unsteadily from the couch and took a few steps toward her. "Katniss—"

But it was President Snow who spoke first, gripping Katniss' shoulder in a claw-like grip. "Mr. Mellark, it's so nice to see you again," he intoned with a bemused smile, but his tone was icy. "We thought bringing Katniss here tonight would be a nice surprise for you. You've been away so long, and she was so eager to see you. And, I must confess, we were all so anxious to witness your reunion ourselves."

Peeta's eyes lingered on his hand on Katniss. He knew what this was, the way the president's hand gripped her shoulder threateningly, presenting her before him. This was a warning. Immediately, Peeta plastered a wide smile on his face and met President Snow's gaze challengingly. "President Snow, your generosity is astounding. I simply don't know how to thank you."

Caesar interjected from behind them, "You can thank him by hugging your girl! Come on, you two!" The audience cheered in agreement.

Shyly, Peeta smiled and stepped closer to Katniss. Snow finally released his grip on her shoulder, and the action seemed to rouse her, as if her body had released all the tension clenched in her bones the second his touch lifted. The scowl vanished from her face, and for a brief moment, she stared at Peeta—sad, perplexed. But then her lips curved into a strained smile, and she gazed up at him demurely through her eyelashes. Sliding his arms around her waist, he pulled her tight against his body, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. If he didn't remember how angry she was the last time he saw her, he could almost fool himself into believing she had missed him.

Around them, chants of "Kiss her! Kiss her!" rose from the rabid Capitol citizens, and Peeta felt his heart break. He could still sense Snow's menacing stare on him, and he knew he had no choice. Leaning back slightly, he looked down at Katniss' face. Her cheeks were rosy, but her eyes were pools of gray trepidation. He hoped his own eyes conveyed just how sorry he was as he pressed his lips against hers. The crowd erupted around them, and, feeling protective, he braced a hand against her cheek to shield her from their prying eyes, though he hoped the gesture read as a loving caress to viewers. Before he pulled back, he mouthed his apology against her lips, and he felt her inhale sharply through her teeth. But she nodded in understanding and flashed him a timid smile, and he let her go, grasping her hand in his.

Caesar was trying to calm the audience down, motioning for them to sit, and he grinned cheekily at Peeta and Katniss. "Ah, young love!" he sighed dramatically. "I think we could watch you two all day."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal them away for the rest of the night for a dinner party, Caesar," Snow responded. He was still smiling coldly at Peeta. "There are so many people who can't wait to meet Mr. Mellark and his guest."

Peeta felt chills along his spine at the president's words, and he knew standing on stage all day and being forced to act his part in a televised romance would be infinitely better to whatever Snow had planned.


	4. Chapter 4

**iv. And I never wanted anything from you except everything you had  
and what was left after that, too**

Peeta and Katniss were ushered out of the auditorium by the president's guards and into a vehicle that transported them to Snow's mansion. Peeta kept a firm grip on Katniss' hand, but they didn't speak. Once they were swept inside the expansive fortress, the guards forced them apart and led them in separate directions. When Peeta resisted, one of the guards shoved his hand between Peeta's shoulder blades, pushing him forward.

"The president wants to speak with you privately, Mr. Mellark. When he is done with you, you will be reunited with your guest in time for the party," he said gruffly. Peeta and Katniss shared one last desperate look before she was directed into a room, and the guards led Peeta up a winding staircase and down a long hallway. When the guards walked him through the door of the last room on the right, he was greeted with the sight of Snow, who already sat patiently at a large, mahogany desk. His elbows were propped on the surface of the desk, his hands steepled under his nose, and he gave the guards leave.

"Wait outside," he commanded, and they released Peeta, closing the door behind them as they left. Peeta's heart raced as he stared wide-eyed at the president, who motioned to a chair in front of his desk. "Please, sit. I think it's time you and I have a frank discussion, Mr. Mellark."

With a thick swallow, Peeta cautiously crossed to the chair and perched on the cushioned chair, his eyes never leaving Snow's face. "What are you doing with Katniss?" he asked, mentally cringing when his voice cracked on her name.

Snow mocked an expression of offense, setting his hands down flat on his desk. "Why, Mr. Mellark, do you question my hospitality? And after I went through all this effort to personally invite Miss Everdeen to my home and offer her the best resources and amenities the Capitol has to offer. I assure you, she is safe in my guards' hands." He paused, cocking his head just slightly. "That is, as long as you do exactly as I say."

Peeta's blood ran cold. His breathing was shallow, and he knew if he didn't get a handle on his increasing heart rate, he would have another panic attack. And he couldn't do that in front of President Snow. He took a few deep, deliberate breaths and licked his dry lips. "What...exactly...do you want me to do?"

Snow's eyes hardened, any hint of his earlier amusement wiped from his face. "You're a smart young man, Mr. Mellark. You proved yourself fairly capable during the games. But I must admit, I thought you were smarter than you've since portrayed yourself to be. No doubt, on your tour of our wonderful country, you've noticed, shall we say, the _discord_ in a few choice districts. District 11 was a particularly dirty scene," he said, narrowing his eyes at Peeta, who still tried desperately to slow his pounding heart. "I regret that the peacekeepers had to take such drastic measures, but the residents of 11 have been repeatedly warned and reprimanded for their antics in the past. Unfortunately, the crowd seemed especially moved by your impassioned speech and your gift to the young girl's family."

"I didn't—it wasn't my intention to stir that crowd to action," Peeta said weakly.

Snow observed him quietly. "I believe you. However, I'm still concerned with your subsequent attempts to undermine the Capitol's authority in the rest of the districts since that day. I've paid close attention to your speeches, and I've noticed the very lovely pin you've somehow acquired from a dead girl and how you've taken to wearing it so often," he remarked pointedly, and Peeta was glad he didn't have the pin on him now. "Please, don't mistake me for a fool, Mr. Mellark. For whatever reason, you've been attempting to stoke the growing unrest in the districts, but I fear your actions have severe consequences for this country. I guess you don't care how your actions affect the lives of those you don't know, so perhaps it's time for the consequences to hit a little closer to home."

Leaning forward, Snow pinned him with a cold glare, and Peeta fought the urge to squirm; he met the president's look with a determined one of his own. "I'm not sure you realize who you're dealing with, Mr. Mellark, or just what I'm capable of. Admittedly, that's my fault. I pay little attention to your unseemly, filthy district, and it would seem your current peacekeepers have become a little lax in disciplining wayward residents. Too many of your neighbors' eccentricities go unpunished, I'm sure. But you're a fairly attractive young man, Mr. Mellark. You have quite a following here in the Capitol, people who would do anything, _pay_ anything, to spend a little time with you. Yes, I can think of a few names just off the top of my head who would really like to _break_ you of your little eccentricities."

Peeta's mouth went dry when the president's implications became clear. "You want to—sell me?" he stammered, and Snow smiled condescendingly.

"Very good, Mr. Mellark. You deduced that quickly." Clenching his jaw, Peeta tried not to let his expression betray his fear. Snow frowned mildly and eyed Peeta, as if debating something. After a moment, he mused, "But it would seem your self-preservation instincts are severely lacking. I suppose someone must have beaten them out of you a long time ago."

Peeta couldn't help the flicker of surprise across his face, and Snow smiled, pleased. "Oh, yes, Mr. Mellark, I know all about you. I knew the moment you won the games that I needed to keep an eye on you."

Snow pushed back from his desk and stood up, wandering over to a tall window that overlooked the City Circle. Clasping his hands behind his back, he stared out the window silently before he spoke again, "Tell me, what did you think of Miss Everdeen's makeover? Quite a beautiful creature, isn't she? Once you've scrubbed off the layer of filth, of course. I imagine quite a few boys pined after her back in District 12—and quite a few more here. With a couple extra, ah, _alterations_ , I think she'd be an even bigger hit among Capitol citizens," he speculated, turning back to fix Peeta with a knowing stare. Peeta froze. "Yes, I think she'd fetch a decent amount of money from interested buyers, wouldn't you agree?"

His blood was ice in his veins, and he pleaded urgently, "Please, don't. I'll do exactly what you want me to do. You can—you can even sell me, just...leave Katniss out of it. Please."

Snow smiled, and the expression reminded Peeta of a snake. "Ah, I thought that might do it for you. Your propensity to protect others always was your downfall." He moved back to his desk and sat in his oversized chair. Unbidden, the word _throne_ popped into Peeta's head. "Here's what you're going to do. You're going to carry out the rest of your time here in the Capitol as if the Victory Tour never happened. You saw nothing, you heard nothing, you know nothing. Any insipid fantasies you had about instigating trouble between the districts and the Capitol are done. You will enjoy the rest of your evening in my lovely residence with your dear friend, Miss Everdeen, at your side, and you two will play the doting, lovesick teenagers you claim to be. You two will go home and continue the charade for the rest of your lives, and everyone will believe you to be just a stupid, infatuated boy, who was only interested in impressing the girl you love with your acts of valor, nothing more. And I will clean up the damage you've done and deal with this nonsense once and for all. Have I made myself clear?"

Peeta nodded solemnly, dropping his eyes to stare at a metal rose paperweight on the desk. "Yes, sir, I understand." _I'm sorry, Rue,_ he thought sadly. But he just couldn't do that to Katniss. The thought made him physically sick.

As if relishing in his triumph, Snow smiled broadly and leaned back in his chair. "Excellent." He pushed a button under his desk, and after a moment, the guards reentered his office. "Please escort Mr. Mellark back to his guest, and when it is time, show them to the banquet room." He glanced at Peeta one last time. "Oh, and, Mr. Mellark. In order to maintain the believability of your romance with Miss Everdeen, I'm going to have to ask that you refrain from any further dalliances with the mayor's daughter."

Peeta froze in his seat, his heart jumping into his throat, and Snow just smiled at him knowingly. How could he...? But Peeta thought of Snow's words, _"I knew the moment you won the games that I needed to keep an eye on you,"_ and he knew: He had been under surveillance this whole time.

Shame knotted his stomach, and he nodded curtly before he stood up from the chair shakily and followed the guards out of the room. Now safely out of Snow's predatory gaze, he felt his body relax somewhat, but his heart still raced as he wondered what they had done to Katniss. Despite what Snow had said about his hospitality, Peeta was terrified for her wellbeing. He was anxious to see her again, to assure himself she had not been harmed; he was so impatient, he was nearly tripping over the guards' heels. When they led him into a closed room downstairs, he caught a flash of her dress around their uniforms and nearly shoved them out of his way. "Katniss!"

She spun around, her eyes widening when she saw him. "Peeta!"

He was on her immediately, gathering her in his arms in a protective hug. He didn't care if she was still angry at him; he was just so relieved to see her safe. He had to touch her to make sure she was real. Pulling back slightly, he braced her face in his hands, and his eyes scanned every inch of her. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" he demanded, and she shook her head, touching his hands lightly with her fingertips.

"No, I'm fine, Peeta," she said quietly. "They just locked me in this room and told me to wait."

He sighed in relief, his hands dropping to rest securely on her shoulders. Her hands lingered at his elbows as if she wasn't quite sure what to do, but a part of him was pleased she hadn't pushed him away yet.

"What did they do with you?" she asked, her eyes darting over his shoulder at the guards who waited by the door. Peeta stiffened, reminded of their presence, and he wondered just how closely Snow was monitoring them now. Was the room bugged? He felt sure it was. He didn't know if anywhere was safe anymore.

Licking his lips apprehensively, he slid a hand around her neck and the other into the hair at the base of her skull. He pressed his face closer to hers and hoped it looked like they were sharing an intimate moment. She stared up a him, dazed, her pupils large and her mouth parted slightly. He couldn't help how his gaze lingered on her glossy, plump lips, but he forced himself to look in her eyes. Sometimes, he was reminded of his being a hormonal teenager at the most inopportune moments. "I'm fine, but we can't really talk here," he murmured in a low voice, and she clamped her mouth shut. "I—I don't know how to explain this, but we need to pretend to be in love for the rest of the evening. I'm sorry, but it's imperative—for your safety." He didn't have the heart to tell her that the deal also extended for the rest of her life.

Katniss looked up at him, her eyes soft, and finally she whispered, "Peeta...I know." She must have noticed the look of shock that skittered across his face because she hastened to add, "Snow already...talked to me."

He didn't know what to say. "Oh. I..."

A guard behind them spoke up. "It's time to go. We will escort you to the banquet room now."

Katniss squeezed his hand. Clearing his throat, he stepped back and held his arm out to her. "Shall we?" he asked, and she nodded resolutely, slipping her hand around the crook of his elbow, and they let the guards direct them to the banquet room, which was already bustling with activity. As soon as they entered the room, people swarmed to greet them. Peeta grinned pleasantly at the cameras, shaking the many hands that reached for him, but he never let go of Katniss' arm. She smiled shyly, speaking very little to the people who tried to engage her in conversation, and she gripped his elbow tightly. He could tell how tense and uncomfortable she was, and he wanted nothing more than to steal her away and shield her from this freak show.

When the welcoming crowd finally thinned out, Peeta led Katniss to the many tables that bore a limitless supply of food. Katniss gasped as she surveyed the bounty, and he lightly touched the hand resting on the crook of his elbow. "You're going to want to pace yourself, trust me," he whispered with a smile, and she looked up at him incredulously. Slipping her hand free, she hovered at the first table of the food procession, overwhelmed by the options, but then she dove in eagerly, starting with the array of soups. Peeta followed behind her, taking the food she couldn't or didn't want to finish. He knew, with her being a hunter, she and her family ate fairly well; she was definitely better fed than anyone else in the Seam—and even most Merchants—but this, this feast was nothing anyone in Twelve could ever even dream up. He remembered his first experience with the infinite Capitol cuisine on the train after the reaping. It was unfair that so many had to go without while everyone in the Capitol had everything they could ever want and more right at their fingertips. The thought made him angry, but he knew he couldn't think about that anymore. He had Katniss to worry about now.

They hadn't even made it through half of the tables before Katniss groaned, bracing herself against a table full of different kinds of breads. "I don't think I can eat anymore," she grumbled, pressing a hand to her stomach, and Peeta smiled and stifled a laugh. He rested a hand on her back, touching her soft skin left bare by the cut of her dress. He forgot what he was going to say, suddenly entranced by how her skin felt under his hands; his fingers itched to explore more of her flesh, to slip further under her dress and trail along her tailbone and her hip.

He was aware that she was staring up at him, her mouth hanging open, and he wondered if his thoughts were written all over his face. Flushing, he pulled his hand away, trying not to draw attention to the action, and he glanced around. "Maybe we should sit down, let the food digest," he said nervously, and she nodded.

Scanning the room, he spotted Haymitch, Effie and Portia seated at a table with a couple other people he didn't recognize. He grabbed Katniss' hand and guided her through the crowd. As he passed a server holding a tray of champagne flutes, he whisked off two glasses and balanced them in his free hand. Sidling up to the table, he smiled in greeting and sat the drinks down in front of two empty chairs. Peeta pulled a seat out for Katniss, and she mumbled a quiet thanks, settling into the chair as he sat down beside her.

Haymitch eyed them in amusement, his eyes lingering on Katniss. "So we meet again, sweetheart," he mused cryptically, and Peeta wondered when they had ever met before. Katniss flushed in embarrassment, looking down at the table, and Haymitch raised a glass in her direction. "Welcome to the team," he said, and he downed the liquid. Judging by how red his mentor's face was, Peeta knew it was alcohol in his cup—it always was. He could really use some alcohol, too.

Lifting his champagne flute to his lips, he took a large gulp of the dry, carbonated drink. It tasted infinitely better than the liquors he usually drank at home. Katniss inspected the flute before her, narrowing her eyes. "What is this?" she asked him, and he motioned to his own glass.

"Champagne. It's alcohol, usually for toasting things," he explained, though he didn't know what they were toasting. "I guess they're celebrating me. Or us, rather."

Katniss nodded and tried a sip of her champagne. Her nose crinkled in distaste, and she set the flute down carefully. "It's bitter. I don't know if I can drink it." She pushed the drink toward him, and he shrugged, taking another gulp of his own champagne. He glanced around at the other table's occupants.

"Ladies, you two look lovely this evening," he told Effie and Portia conversationally, and Effie beamed, waving him off halfheartedly.

"You're too kind, Peeta," she cooed, and she gave Katniss an appreciative look. "But I must say, you look absolutely divine, Katniss. Whoever dressed you did a marvelous job. I hardly recognized you as the girl I met back in District 12!"

Effie was the queen of backhanded compliments, and Peeta cringed behind his drink, draining the rest of the liquid. Katniss' mouth twitched, and he knew she was fighting a scowl. "Thank you, Effie," she said tightly, and she turned her attention to Portia. "It was Cinna, actually, who dressed me. He's your styling partner, correct?"

Portia grinned. "Yes. I thought I recognized his work. He's an absolute genius, really."

"You both are," Peeta corrected her with a soft smile, and Portia rolled her eyes good-naturedly. Setting aside his empty glass, Peeta picked up Katniss' abandoned champagne flute and took a sip. Haymitch caught his eye and smirked; Peeta wanted to flip him off, but he refrained, draining the rest of the drink.

"Good evening, all."

Everyone at the table turned to the new voice. A tall man with tan skin and bronze hair stood at the head of the table in a black tuxedo. He looked vaguely familiar to Peeta, but he couldn't place him. A shorter, paunchier Capitol man, wearing a sea-foam green suit and a small, matching bowl hat atop his bald head, was poised at the taller man's elbow.

Haymitch clambered to his feet, shaking the bronze-haired man's hand enthusiastically. "Finnick, it's good to see you."

Recognition finally dawned on Peeta. Finnick Odair, a District 4 victor. But why was he here? He hadn't seen any other victors, or at least, none he recognized. In fact, he didn't recall meeting any victors during his entire trip.

Finnick slapped Haymitch on the back and flashed him a crooked grin. "Good to see you, too, old man. I just wanted to pay my respects to the man of the hour," he said, turning his attention to Peeta and extending a hand. Dutifully, Peeta stood up and shook his hand, nodding a "hello." Finnick gestured to the man at his side, who seemed antsy. "Peeta Mellark, let me introduce you to my date for the evening, Walter Wells. It's by his generosity that I am able to attend tonight, and he was most eager to meet you, as well."

Peeta tried to disguise his confusion with a pleasant smile as he shook Walter's hand. He recalled everything he knew about or had seen of Finnick over the years. He was something of a playboy, and he was often seen in the company of a different lover every time he was shown on TV, women and men alike. But Walter looked to be twice Finnick's age, and he was nowhere near as attractive as the victor—but, then again, no one else really was. Peeta thought about the string of companions he had seen with Finnick and realized not a lot of them seemed to be in his league, looks-wise anyway, which Peeta found curious.

"It's nice to meet you, Walter," he said benignly, and the man grinned voraciously at him, squeezing his hand. Peeta was suddenly aware of how the older man was leering at him. His stomach twisted uncomfortably, and he stole a furtive glance at Finnick, who quirked an eyebrow at him, his face solemn, and Peeta instantly understood. Finnick wasn't a playboy. Finnick was a prostitute. Walter was his client. And Walter was looking at Peeta as goods to be purchased.

"I'm a huge fan of yours, Peeta," Walter gushed, and Peeta managed to politely extract his hand from the older man's grasp, flagging down a passing server to grab another drink. "That final fight between you and Cato on the cornucopia—I mean, wow."

Smiling weakly, Peeta sipped his champagne and collapsed into his seat. "I appreciate your support," he said tightly. He could see out of the corner of his eye that Katniss was staring at him in concern, but Finnick moved to her side and lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"And you must be Katniss Everdeen. I'm Finnick Odair," he said flirtatiously. Katniss seemed perturbed by his attention. "You're quite a sight to behold. I can certainly see why Peeta is so enamored by you."

Peeta stiffened in his chair, the taste of jealousy strong on his tongue, but Katniss shifted in her seat, seemingly uncomfortable with Finnick's words. "Um, thank you," she said, unsure, and she avoided Peeta's eyes.

Finnick let go of Katniss' hand and clapped a hand down on Peeta's shoulder. "Well, I think Walt and I are going to venture over to the buffet. I hope you all have a lovely evening. Peeta, I guess I'll see you again in a few months at the games," he said, and his words filled Peeta with a new sense of dread. The games. He was going to have to be a mentor now for the rest of his life. He looked across the table at Haymitch, who raised his eyebrows in understanding.

Before Finnick and Walter walked away, Walter gave Peeta one last lecherous look, grinning wickedly at him. "I hope to see you around the Capitol as well, Peeta," he said suggestively, and Finnick hooked his arm around Walter's, leading him to the food.

Peeta's stomach churned dangerously, and he noticed the somber looks Haymitch and Portia were shooting him. They understood the implication, too. Thankfully, Effie was oblivious, and the suggestion had gone right over Katniss' head; she was glancing around the room cluelessly. Peeta watched Finnick and Walter by the tables of food, as they touched and fed each other, and Peeta wanted to throw up. He gulped down his champagne instead and wondered if Snow had sent Finnick and Walter to him as a reminder. He wondered if Finnick's life was going to be his very soon.

Rubbing his forehead, he glanced over at Katniss. She was fidgeting distractedly with a napkin. Peeta hoped that, at the very least, it was a life she would never have to know. If Snow kept his word. And if he kept his word, too. Remembering Snow's proposition and his own promise to commit to the romance, he scooted his chair closer to Katniss and leaned his mouth close to her ear. "You look really beautiful tonight," he murmured, and she tensed beside him. She glanced at the three empty champagne flutes in front of him and looked at him oddly.

"You're drunk," she muttered, and he frowned, slightly wounded. His head did feel kind of fuzzy, but he leaned closer to her and tentatively touched the exposed skin of her back again.

"Maybe," he relented, keeping his mouth close to her ear. "I still think you're beautiful, though." He couldn't resist; he trailed his fingertips down her spine, stopping where the material of her dress started. "Of course, I've always thought you were beautiful." He thought he could make out a light blush on her cheeks, and her hand spasmed on the table. She quickly dropped her hand to her lap, and she seemed to lean just a smidge closer to him. His eyes traveled down the bare expanse of her torso, lingering on the swells of her partially exposed breasts; her skin looked flushed, and his pants suddenly felt too tight. Swallowing thickly, he slipped his hand under her dress. He knew he shouldn't, but the temptation was too strong, and the alcohol had impaired his judgment. As his hand slid across her back to grip her waist, he heard her inhale sharply, and he nuzzled his nose in her hair. "You smell good too," he mumbled, breathing deeply. "But I think I like the smell of woods on you best."

Her hand trembled in her lap, and he didn't think it was his imagination that she pressed closer to him. "Peeta..." she said shakily but didn't seem to have a follow-up.

"Should we leave you two alone?" Haymitch deadpanned, causing them to jump apart. They both shot him nearly identical scowls, and Effie smacked his arm.

"Haymitch! Stop it. They're in love. It's cute." She winked at them, and Katniss' chin dipped to her chest. Peeta felt a rush of guilt at having embarrassed her, and he discretely removed his hand from her dress.

"The champagne's gone to my head, I think," he murmured apologetically to their table companions, and Haymitch just snorted. Hoping his slight erection wasn't obvious in the dim lighting of the room, Peeta pushed away from the table and stood up. "I'm going to use the restroom. Please excuse me."

Dazed, he managed to find the bathrooms outside of the banquet room; the guards escorted him and waited outside the door. After he had relieved himself, Peeta splashed his face with cold water. The light makeup Portia had applied to his face for his interview was running now, so he grabbed a couple of paper towels and rubbed the rest of it off. He leaned against the sink for a moment, staring at his reflection solemnly. He hated what he was doing to Katniss; how miserable she must be having to pretend to be in love with him. Did she know this act extended beyond tonight? She said Snow had already talked to her, so what had he told her? How had he convinced her to go along with the charade? He wanted to ask her, but he was apprehensive about just who could overhear their conversations. He suddenly had the feeling that there was a set of eyes watching him everywhere he went. A set of cold, snakelike eyes.

Shuddering, Peeta pushed away from the sink and left the bathroom. The guards followed him back to the banquet room, and he smiled weakly at the people who crossed his path, offering kind words and well wishes. A thick hand grabbed his shoulder, stopping him in his path, and he craned his neck around to see a heavyset man with a pleasant face.

"Peeta Mellark, I was hoping to steal a moment of your time," the man said, letting his shoulder go and holding his hand out. "You don't know me, but my name's Plutarch Heavensbee. I'm the newest Head Gamemaker."

Shaking his hand, Peeta lifted his eyebrows in mild surprise. "New Head Gamemaker?" he repeated. The name _Seneca Crane_ floated through his mind, and he recalled the last Head Gamemaker from his private session before the games.

Plutarch smiled slightly, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Yes. Well, the president was displeased with the way the last Head Gamemaker handled the last games, so he found a replacement. There weren't too many takers, but I figured I was up for the challenge this year."

Nodding absently, Peeta couldn't help but wonder if it was his winning that was Seneca Crane's undoing. "Well, good luck with the job. I'm sure it'll be an exciting show," he said blandly, but Plutarch's smile widened.

"That's the plan. I have a strategy meeting at midnight tonight with the other gamemakers, actually."

"Tonight? You're already planning the next games?"

"Yes. Well, the games have been in the works for a while, mind you. It takes a while to build the arenas, but tonight we'll be discussing some finishing touches. Speaking of which," Plutarch paused, pulling a pocket watch out and flipping it open, "it's almost that time. I should be going." Peeta opened his mouth to respond, but something caught his eye; blinking, he peered closer at the watch. He was stunned when an image of a mockingjay flashed across the face of the watch as Plutarch ran his thumb over it. He snapped it closed before Peeta could get a closer look, though. "I just wanted to tell you congratulations on winning the games. I look forward to working with you in the future."

Peeta mumbled a thanks, still distracted by what he had seen, and Plutarch disappeared out of the room. Shuffling back to his table, Peeta sat down next to Katniss again, who acknowledged him with a shy glance. His mind kept flitting back to that watch, however; it was almost as if Plutarch had wanted him to see the mockingjay. Was it just a fashion statement to him? No, surely he had to understand the symbol was problematic, something Snow would not tolerate his gamemakers humoring. And the watch face was so covert; you had to really look to see it on the watch. Was Plutarch trying to tell him something?

He shook his head. It didn't matter. He was done with those ideas of insurgency.

Peeta was jarred from his reverie by Effie's uproarious laughter, and he looked at her. She and Portia were giggling over some joke Portia had just told, and Haymitch was shaking his head, nursing another alcoholic beverage. After she had calmed down, Effie fanned her face and glanced around the table. "Oh, dear. I think I've had too much to drink as well. What time is it?"

"Almost midnight," Peeta offered, thinking of the pocket watch, and Effie's eyes widened considerably. She looked at the dainty watch on her wrist and practically squealed.

"Oh, my! We need to get going! Our train leaves at 1 o'clock. Let's go!" she commanded, and everyone got to their feet. Peeta offered his hand to Katniss to help her up, averting his eyes bashfully, and she was just as timid as she took his hand.

Effie ushered them out of the room, parading them through a long line of farewells. Finally, at a little less than a quarter to one, they boarded the train that would take them back to District 12. Haymitch immediately disappeared into the bar car, and Effie threw out something about needing her beauty sleep as she swished off to her room in another car. Portia followed suit, wishing Peeta and Katniss good night. His prep team lingered for a moment, whispering and giggling with each other; Peeta had the distinct feeling they were talking about him and Katniss, who looked around awkwardly, but before long they departed to their own rooms as well. Finally, the two of them were alone, and heavy silence permeated the air for an uneasy moment.

"I guess we should get some sleep," Peeta said, rubbing the back of his neck. She looked at him and nodded. After a long pause, Peeta shuffled his feet in the direction of his car. "Well...good night, Katniss."

"Wait!" she called after him, and he turned back to her eagerly. She twisted her hands nervously, and he looked at her expectantly. "Um...I don't know where my room is. They brought me here in a hovercraft."

He blinked. "Oh." He furrowed his eyebrows. "I don't know either. If you want, you can sleep in my room, and I'll just grab a couch out here," he suggested, but she was already shaking her head. "It's fine. I don't do a lot of sleeping these days anyway."

She looked at him sadly. "Right. Nightmares," she said softly, and he nodded. He motioned for her to follow him; she seemed to debate his offer for another minute before she relented, following him through the cars until they reached his room. Peeta tried not to think about the fact that he was leading the girl of his dreams to his bedroom. He opened the door for her and stepped aside, and she breezed past him, hesitating just inside the room.

"I hope you sleep well," he said quietly, smiling at her when she turned to look at him, but she touched his arm before he could walk away.

"Peeta...should we talk?" she asked, and he understood what she was referring to.

He grimaced, shaking his head. "I'm not sure we should talk about anything until we get home," he said quietly. "I think everything is bugged."

That surprised her, her eyes widening, but she nodded slowly. "Okay." Again, he made to walk away, and she called him back. "Peeta...there's a couch in here. If you want..."

His eyebrows shot up, and he stared at her. Yes, he wanted to. "Um, if you're sure..." he trailed off, and she wouldn't quite meet his eyes as she nodded.

"Yeah, it's fine. We have appearances to keep up, don't we?"

Peeta's heart dropped a little, but he bowed his head and stepped inside the room, the door closing behind him. He really wanted to know what she and Snow had talked about, but he figured that conversation would have to wait till after the Harvest Festival. They stood awkwardly in the center of the room, and finally Katniss spoke up, "They really didn't prepare for me at all. I don't have anything to sleep in," she said sheepishly, and he chuckled despite himself.

"Effie's going to shit herself at this lapse in oversight and etiquette in the morning," he joked, and she finally cracked a smile. He strode over to the dresser and rummaged through his clothes until he found a fairly large undershirt. Holding it out to her, he said, "I think this should be big enough for you. I can find some shorts for you if you want, but I think they'd just fall right off you."

She took the shirt from him and smiled gratefully. "That's okay. This is about all I sleep in normally." She flushed at her own words, and she gestured at the bathroom. "Do you mind if I go first?" she asked, and he shook his head. The bathroom door clicked softly as she closed it behind her, and he sighed loudly, looking around the room. This was going to be a weird night.

Peeta quickly discarded his suit until he was clothed in just his boxers and a light T-shirt. He stared at his prosthetic, wondering how weirded out Katniss would be at the sight of it. He decided to put on some pajama bottoms as well, just in case.

Perched on the edge of the bed, he waited for Katniss to reemerge from the bathroom, and when she did, he wasn't quite prepared for the sight. The shirt—his shirt—hung on her loosely and reached mid-thigh. Her hair had been freed from its updo and hung down her back; he had never seen it free from its braid before. Her face, the face he had memorized after all these years, was scrubbed of the heavy makeup, and her skin was shiny and fresh and slightly pink from the efforts of her cleaning.

He was staring, he realized, because she tugged self-consciously on the hem of the shirt as if she could make it longer. He snapped his mouth shut and stood up from the bed, suddenly very aware of his own body. He was somewhat hard just looking at her in his shirt, and he prayed she didn't notice. She kept her eyes down, however, brushing her hair out of her face. "I think I just scrubbed two layers of my skin off trying to get that makeup off," she joked uneasily, and he laughed a little too eagerly, brushing by her to step into the bathroom.

"Feel free to go to bed if you want," he told her, and she nodded as he shut the door. He slumped onto the toilet, dropping his head into his hands. He needed to get his hormones under control, but he couldn't stop thinking about her legs and the way her nipples strained against the thin material of his shirt. And then he remembered how her skin felt under his hand earlier that night, and all he wanted to do was run his hands all over her body. Stifling a groan, he shook his head in frustration. He briefly considered relieving himself in the shower, but that thought disgusted him when he considered that she was in the other room, completely oblivious to his predicament. No, he would just have to tough it out the hard way.

He sat on the toilet a while longer, recalling his conversation with Snow and with Finnick and his date, and very quickly his erection subsided. When he finally had it under control, he used the bathroom and brushed his teeth. Splashing some more cold water on his face, he dried it on a towel and quietly slipped out of the bathroom. Katniss was already in bed, safely under the covers, and he nearly sighed in relief. She glanced at him, lifting her head off the pillow slightly.

"I left you a blanket and a pillow," she said, nodding toward the couch. "I hope that's enough."

Touched, he smiled softly. "Thank you, that'll be plenty." He turned off the light and felt his way back to the couch, stretching out under the sheet.

"Goodnight, Peeta," she said quietly.

"Goodnight, Katniss."

 

It was a pillow to the face that woke him hours later. With a gasp, he shot up on the couch, flailing wildly with the sheet twisted around his legs and the pillow now resting on his lap.

"Sorry!"

Katniss' husky voice startled him out of his panic, and he squinted around the room. He could see her faintly in the darkness, sitting up in his bed. "What?" he croaked in confusion.

"I'm sorry; that was me," she elaborated, gesturing to the pillow in his lap. "I threw the pillow."

"Why?"

Even in the dark, he could tell she looked sheepish. "Well, you looked like you were having a nightmare. I said your name, but you didn't hear me."

Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, he thought about his last dream. It was the mutts chasing him again, but instead of Cato falling off the cornucopia, it was Peeta who had been dragged down into the pit of vicious animals. His heart was still racing; he looked at Katniss warily. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry."

She shook her head, hugging the covers closer to her body. "No. You weren't really making any noise, just kind of...whimpering. I wasn't asleep though."

Sighing, he pushed the sheet and the pillow off and swung his legs over the side of the couch, resting his feet on the soft carpet. He dropped his face in his hands as he struggled through the remnants of his nightmare, and when he felt calm enough, he sat up straighter. "So why are you awake then? Couldn't sleep?"

"Not really. This train is weird, I guess," she spoke softly. "I've never slept in a bed alone, at least since I can remember. Usually, Prim is curled up beside me."

Peeta had had his own bed as long as he could remember. He guessed he was lucky in that regard, but it wasn't like he really got to enjoy that fact these days. Lately, his nightmares were so bad, they drove him out of his bed regularly. "Yeah, right about now is when I usually end up roaming around the train." Standing up, he scooped the pillow up and carried it back to the bed, holding it out for her. "If this is how you normally wake people up, though, I feel sorry for Prim." He flashed a small grin to soften the blunt of his words, and she laughed in embarrassment as she snatched the pillow back.

"I said I was sorry. It seemed like a good idea at the time..."

"Why do I get the feeling that's something you say often?" he asked dryly and immediately ducked when she swung the pillow at him. Laughing, he held up his hands in surrender, and she scowled at him, but it lacked its usual malice. "I'm sorry. Please don't hit me with any more pillows."

Katniss hugged the pillow to her torso, fighting a smile. "I'll try, but I can't make any promises."

With a chuckle, Peeta slumped against the bedpost and slid down to the floor. Katniss stretched back out on the bed flat on her stomach as he leaned against the mattress, but she angled her face to look at him. "It's weird, but I don't think I've laughed once this entire trip," he said quietly, but then he thought about it. "Actually, not that weird, given the circumstances." What was there even to laugh about at this point?

She hummed softly in understanding. Her gray eyes glinted in the moonlight that filtered through the train window. "You should always laugh. It suits you."

Surprised, he looked at her sharply. Then he broke into a grin. "Why, Katniss, are you hitting on me?" he asked, and her eyes widened.

"What? No! I was just—it's not hitting on you if I'm just stating a fact. I just meant—you know, that your face...looks nice...when you laugh." She burrowed further under the covers, hiding her face in the pillow, and he laughed throatily.

Knowing she found him attractive sent a thrill through his body, and he couldn't resist teasing her. "Is that how that works? If I were to tell you that you're the most beautiful girl I've ever known, am I hitting on you, or just stating a fact?"

She narrowed her eyes at him in what he knew was a scowl, but he could tell he had flustered her. "That would be called lying," she mumbled into the pillow.

Smiling, he shook his head. "You clearly have no idea the effect you have on people."

"Me? And what about you? I've seen girls falling all over themselves to be near you," she snapped, propping herself up on her elbows, but he just smiled wider, leaning closer.

"Were you jealous?" he needled, and she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Jealous? Why would I be jealous? I had more important things to think about besides which girl you were hooking up with every week," she said haughtily, and he flinched mildly.

"Every _week_? That's a bit of an exaggeration," he grumbled. Sure, he'd done his fair share of dating, fooled around with a few girls. A couple of those dates had even extended into short relationships—as much as you could commit to someone when they might be shipped off to their deaths in the games. But in the end, he broke it off with each girl because he just wasn't invested enough, and he knew it wasn't fair to them when he was thinking about someone else. "I guess I was just trying to distract myself from the fact that I couldn't have the only girl I really wanted," he said. His tone was achingly sincere, not at all playful like he had intended, and he wanted to kick himself for his overwhelming honest. But Katniss just looked perplexed.

"What do you mean? What girl?" she asked.

He chuckled sadly, resting his head on the edge of the mattress as he peered up at her. "You're really not good at reading social cues, are you?"

She furrowed her eyebrows, and it took her a moment to decipher his words. Once she had, her face went a little slack. "Oh." He smiled as she picked at a fiber pill on the mattress sheet. "No, I guess not..."

Another tense moment passed, and Peeta took a deep breath to steel his nerves. "Katniss, I—I'm sorry about the paintings," he said, and she looked at him apprehensively. "I can understand why it would freak you out. I hate that I made you angry."

She didn't respond right away, and she went back to picking at the pills on the sheet. "I...might have overreacted," she conceded quietly. "I wasn't really angry. I mean, I _was_. But it was really because I was...confused, I guess."

"Confused how?"

"Well—" she halted, looking at him warily. "After you came back—I thought, you and I—I mean, you know...But you said we didn't have to pretend anymore. So I thought that meant you were pretending about how you felt about me. But then you had all these paintings of me, so...I was confused."

"Oh." He studied the sheets now, finding the pills of equal interest. "I guess I wasn't very clear. What I felt— _feel_ —for you, I was never pretending, Katniss." Her hands stilled on the mattress, but he was too nervous to look at her face. "But I knew that Haymitch had kind of twisted your arm to get you to do that interview, and I felt so guilty forcing you to participate in that charade as soon as I got home. I know you're a pretty private person, and I understood that you were only doing what you could to help me. I just meant that I was so grateful for what you were willing to do but that, since the cameras were gone and all, you didn't have to pretend anymore."

She narrowed her eyes at the bed, her fingers tracing ambiguous patterns. "Oh. I guess I didn't get that. I thought you meant that you didn't actually...like me. I just felt stupid."

He smiled slightly, his eyes tracing the way her hair fell around her face. "No, I didn't mean that. You're the only girl I've ever really liked." _Loved_ , he wanted to say, but he choked that back. He knew that was a sentiment she couldn't grasp yet.

A blush blossomed across her cheeks and her nose, and she tugged nervously on a lock of her hair. She didn't say anything for a while, and Peeta debated getting up and heading back to the couch to break the tension, but she finally spoke up again, albeit feebly, "Well, I meant what I said, too. About...wanting to get to know you better."

"Yeah?" he asked hopefully, raising an eyebrow. A small smile spread across his face when she nodded. "I would really like that."

"Me too." She finally looked at him through her eyelashes, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

His heart soared, and he tried not to think about how Snow had pretty much forced both of their hands in this situation. That was something to sort out back home. Right now, she wanted to get to know him better; what that meant exactly, he didn't know, but he would always take what he could get when it came to her. It was more than he had ever seriously considered in the past.

After a moment, he sighed and used the bedpost to lift himself up. "I guess we should try to go back to sleep," he said, flinching at the ache in his knee above his prosthetic.

"Peeta," Katniss said hesitantly, looking at his left leg. "You can...share the bed with me, if you want." Her words froze him in his spot, but he tried to control the look of shock on his face so as not to scare her. She rushed to continue, "I mean, this bed is big. There's plenty of room. I doubt that couch is very comfortable, especially with your leg. This is your room. I don't mean to put you out. And...I think I might be able to sleep a little better with someone next to me." If it was at all possible, her blush seemed to deepen.

Peeta swallowed thickly, trying not to let his mind get carried away with her suggestion. "Okay," he breathed. "If you're comfortable with that."

She nodded, ducking her head and scooting over to give him plenty of room. Carefully, he lowered himself into the bed and slipped under the covers; he moved as slowly as he could, as if she were a frightened prey and the slightest misstep by him would send her running. But she didn't bolt; she stretched out beside him on her stomach, shielding most of her face with her arm. Her eyes watched him cautiously as he settled in and folded his arms behind his head. He stared up at the ceiling while he struggled with his racing thoughts and shallow breathing. He finally glanced at her; there was a foot of distance between them, but she still felt so painfully close. He didn't know if he'd get any more sleep tonight, but he sure as hell wasn't going to get out of this bed.

"If I have any more nightmares, maybe try shaking me before you whack me with a pillow, yeah?" he asked jokingly, and she laughed lightly.

"I said I couldn't make any promises, Mellark." Her voice was stern, but her eyes twinkled.

He chuckled and closed his eyes, feeling relaxed already. Maybe he could sleep after all. "Goodnight—again—Katniss."

"'Night, Peeta."


	5. Chapter 5

**v. Tried to untie the knot, but it's tied real tight**

Only slight flurries floated down from the sky, but the snow on the ground was knee-deep as Katniss made her way from the Seam to the Victor's Village. A few of her neighbors had made attempts to shovel a pathway, but she still stumbled through some thick pockets of snow. The main walkways through town to the Victor's Village had been cleared better by district officials, but they never bothered with the Seam. Katniss was glad her hunting boots laced up fairly high and did a decent job of keeping moisture out. She wished she had a thicker coat, but she had lent it to Prim, who was out playing with some of her friends in the snow; as she was always more concerned about her sister's wellbeing than her own, she had made sure to bundle Prim in as many layers as she could, electing to use their father's old threadbare hunting jacket for herself instead. She tried to pull her bare hands as deep inside the sleeves as possible, curling her numb fingers into her palms.

Once she reached Peeta's house, she bounded up the stairs, and kicked her boots against the top step to dislodge the dirty snow. Then she rapped on the door, burrowing further in her coat as she waited. After a moment, the door cracked open, and Peeta's head appeared around it. He looked a little surprised to see her, but he smiled pleasantly. The sight made her smile.

"Hi, I wasn't expecting you today," he said, his voice slightly questioning, but he opened the door wider. It was Saturday, and the Capitol had finally packed up and left after the Harvest Festival had wrapped up earlier in the week.

Katniss hovered on the front step. "I know, but I thought we could, you know, _talk_ ," she said, emphasizing the last word, and he raised his eyebrows in understanding. They still needed to discuss President Snow's terms.

He looked nervous suddenly, leaning out the doorway some and shutting it a little more. "Right. Maybe we could go for a walk, where we could have a little privacy...?"

She understood his implication, and she looked around them at their surroundings, buried in snow, and chewed her lip. "Okay..." Then an idea struck her, and she peered up at him. "I know where we can go. It's a bit of a hike though."

He nodded, but he eyed her thoughtfully. "That sounds fine, but it's pretty cold out. I got some extra clothes you can put on, come on." He stepped aside to let her in, and she smiled gratefully. Her senses were immediately assaulted with the delicious aroma of an array of baked goods she saw blanketing the kitchen counters. It was only midmorning; he must have gotten up early. "Let me get dressed, and I'll be right back."

He was already taking the stairs two at a time, and she ventured into the kitchen to investigate what he had been making. Her mouth watered when she came across a tray of cinnamon rolls, and she glanced over her shoulder quickly before she swiped her finger through some icing that had dripped onto the tray. She sucked it off her finger, closing her eyes, but she whirled around as she heard Peeta approaching the kitchen, feeling guilty. He seemed to notice her gravitation to the rolls, and he smiled, dropping a few items of clothing on the table. "You can have one if you want," he offered.

"I don't have anything to trade you today," she said, but he just grinned.

"You don't always have to trade me stuff. Sometimes friends give friends things without expecting anything. Honest," he said when she eyed him suspiciously. "Have a cinnamon roll; I made plenty."

She hesitated only a moment longer before she relented. "Okay, but I'll bring you something for it tomorrow," she acquiesced, and he just shook his head in amusement as she pried one of the sticky buns away from the others and bit into it eagerly.

"If you must," he mused, shrugging his shoulders through a thick coat and buttoning it up. As she devoured her roll, he wrapped a scarf around his neck and pulled on some gloves. She was licking the remaining icing from her fingers when he approached her with a scarf and a pair of gloves. "Here," he started, draping the scarf over her shoulders, and she froze while he wound it around her neck. "These gloves are going to be too big, but they'll keep your hands warm at least." He held them open for her, and she eyed him warily before begrudgingly slipping her hands inside them. They were leather and lined with fur on the insides. They felt luxurious.

With a smile, Peeta squeezed her hands reassuringly. "This hike...Should we take food?" he asked, looking at all the baked goods that lined his counters, and she nodded reluctantly. He disappeared into the living room and returned with a backpack. She helped him wrap up some of the bread and muffins, and she stuffed them into the bag as he filled up a couple containers with water. She followed him to the front door, where he stooped to slip on a pair of snow boots. Standing up straight, he opened the door and waved her out. "After you, boss. I'm following you."

She led him through town to the other side of the Seam, guiding him to the edge of the forest. As they passed by houses, she worried fleetingly about people seeing the two of them together, but she reminded herself that, after the Harvest Festival, it was a common sight; no one would be surprised by their keeping each other company if they suspected they were in a relationship. Which was the image they had to give now.

They stopped before the fence that delineated the boundaries of District 12 and Capitol land. She glanced at Peeta, and he regarded the fence nervously. "We're going into the woods?"

Katniss nodded. "Guess you've never been?" He indicated his answer with a shake of his head, and she smirked. "Don't worry; I'll protect you."

He laughed, and her heart skipped a beat at the sound. Like it always seemed to do these days whenever he laughed. It was annoying.

"I was serious when I said it was a hike," she warned, her gaze dropping to his left leg. "A couple hours' walk."

His eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "Well, I guess I've managed worse." The games. Of course. "Lead the way."

She eyed his leg again, her eyes creased in concern. "Your leg going to be okay?" she asked softly.

"Guess we'll find out," he said lightly to deflect her worry, and she just nodded. Crawling through the gap she and Gale always used, she waited on the other side for him to cross the fence. Then they started their long hike through the woods.

By the time they reached the cabin in the woods, the one her father had shown her all those years ago, she was sweating lightly around her scalp from the exertion. Peeta was breathing heavily behind her, and she turned to face him. "Well, here it is."

She was nervous to show him this place; no one aside from her and her father had ever been out here—at least, that she knew of. She liked to think of it as her secret place. She had never even shown it to Gale. She felt like she was betraying her friend somehow by showing it to Peeta, but they needed to talk somewhere away from any prying Capitol ears and eyes. The cabin was the only place she knew of that no one else had discovered yet.

Looking over her shoulder at the cabin, Peeta's eyes widened, and he halted in his tracks. "Oh, wow. What is this place?"

She shrugged, surveying the quiet woods around them. "An abandoned house. I think it's been here since before the Dark Days. It's made of concrete, so I think that's how it survived. My...dad showed it to me when I was little. We used to come here a lot." She gazed at where the lake was, now frozen solid and covered in a layer of snow, and she gestured toward it. "There's a lake there. I go swimming in it sometimes, in the warmer months."

He followed her hand to the lake then looked back at her with a smile. "You're just full of surprises, do you know that? This is incredible."

Embarrassed, she turned back to the cabin and began walking again. "Come on. I keep logs inside, so we can start a fire, and you can rest your leg. And then we can talk."

Once inside, Katniss moved to throw some logs into the fireplace. She struggled trying to start the fire, so Peeta offered to help. She sat back and watched as he easily manipulated the kindling into a small flame, and soon the wood was crackling as fire consumed it. He flashed her a cocky smile, and she rolled her eyes, tugging her scarf and gloves off and toeing her boots off. He did the same, and once he had his coat off, he spread it on the ground in front of the fire for them to sit on. She removed her own jacket while he dug some provisions out of his backpack and passed her a bottle of water. Sitting cross-legged, she scooted close to the fire and chugged some water. Wincing slightly, Peeta stretched his bad leg out in front of him and leaned back on his hands to watch the fire, biting into a muffin. They were silent for a few minutes while they picked at some food and satiated their thirst.

"So," Peeta started, weighing a half-eaten muffin in his hand. "How did you end up in the Capitol exactly?"

She sighed, partially dreading this conversation. "Ever had Snow show up on your doorstep?" she asked dryly, and his eyes widened.

"He actually came all the way out here?" he asked incredulously, and she nodded in confirmation.

"Quite a sight, the president of Panem at your door," she muttered, thinking back to that day when she had opened the door to find Snow, flanked by numerous guards and peacemakers, smiling at her coldly. If she'd had her bow on her, she was pretty sure her instinct would have been to shoot him. "I knew I was in trouble."

Peeta stared solemnly at the floor. "And what did he say to you?"

"We had a private _chat_ in my house. He made my mother and sister wait outside, even, in the cold," she ground out, raging silently as she recalled his visit. "He said that you were starting trouble in the districts, trouble that could have huge repercussions for the whole country, if you didn't stop. If I didn't do what he said. Which was to carry on as if you and I were in—a relationship." She couldn't say _love_ , that felt too big. "I didn't really understand what I had to do with anything, what part I played in this. But I think...I guess he wanted to use me to punish you. And he wants the country to think you were just a boy with a crush, and not some kind of—revolutionary, I guess." She paused for a moment, bringing her knees up to her chest as she watched the flames dance in the fireplace. "I was going to refuse, but...he threatened to—to sell Prim. In the Capitol, as, as a _prostitute_. I will die before I let that happen!" she spat vehemently, trembling slightly at the memory; anger and fear had coursed through her veins at Snow's threat then, as it did now, making her lightheaded.

"God..." Peeta whispered, his voice anguished, and he dropped his muffin to the floor, bringing his hand up to rub his face. "Prim? She's just a child. I know I shouldn't be surprised—I mean, having children kill each other is depraved enough—but to, to threaten prostitution on a 12-year-old?" Katniss nodded numbly, and he groaned, flopping down on his back. "This is such a fucking mess. I'm so sorry, Katniss. I'm sorry I dragged you into this mess. This is all my fault. Haymitch tried to warn me, but I didn't listen—I just didn't understand the measures Snow would take..." He stared up at the ceiling, pain bracketing his face. "Maybe if I just...turned myself over to him, told him to do whatever he wanted to me, sell me or just go ahead and kill me, he would leave your family alone."

His words startled her, and she looked at him sharply. "Peeta—no. You, you can't do that. You didn't win the games just to—to let Snow kill you now. That's absurd! And I won't allow it!" she snapped, surprising even herself, but Peeta just stared at the ceiling sorrowfully.

"I guess it wouldn't do any good, anyway," he said. "You're right, about Snow using you to punish me. He already threatened to sell me as a prostitute in the Capitol, but I think he knew that threat wouldn't hold much pull over me, so he said he would sell you instead. He wouldn't kill me, not when he can torture me instead."

Katniss drew back slightly, appalled. "Snow said he was going to sell me?" Peeta nodded. "Is that what he discussed with you in the Capitol?" He nodded again. "And what was his proposition?"

"What he told you. You and I had to keep up this charade for the rest of our lives, and I had to stop instigating unrest in the districts." He sat up then, looking at her urgently. "I told him I would do it. I wouldn't—I would never let him do that to you, Katniss. Ever. As long as I'm alive, he will never touch a hair on your body. Okay?"

The fierceness in which he spoke shook her to her core. "I know, Peeta." And she did; she knew he was not the kind of person to willfully put someone's life in danger. She hugged her knees tighter. "What's been happening in the districts, Peeta? What is this trouble he was talking about?"

He looked pained as he leaned back against his hands again. "I...People are unhappy, Katniss. Not just here in District 12. I guess the last games kind of brought their frustration with the Capitol into focus. Haymitch told me before the tour, but...I saw it for myself. Not every district, but—enough of them, I think. Certainly enough to scare the Capitol, it seems. When I was in these places...I was just so mad, Katniss. It's not fair what the Capitol does to us. It's sick, parading victors like me around in all these different districts, when these families, these communities, are trying to mourn the loss of their children. I couldn't stand it anymore, so I—well, I encouraged them." His voice was thick with shame, and he ran a hand through his hair nervously. "I really fucked up, Katniss. I was overconfident, and I invited Snow's wrath upon us."

She stared at him in awe. The idea that people in other districts were just as fed up as they were in Twelve, that there were movements happening across the country that actually scared the Capitol...? It made her stomach twist with a new, curious feeling. Hope? But that was a futile feeling, wasn't it? Neither of them could entertain the idea anymore, if they wanted to protect the people they cared about.

That thought pulled her up short. Was she someone Peeta cared about? He had said he liked her, but did that mean he cared about her? The way she cared about Prim? He was trying to protect her the way she was trying to protect Prim. She buried her face against her knees, suddenly feeling very warm.

So maybe he cared about her. Did she care about him? There was only a handful of people she knew she cared about: Prim, her mother and Gale. If she were feeling generous, she could expand that group to include Gale's family, too. Possibly even Madge. Could she include Peeta? She guessed she had come to care about him without even realizing it. He had crept up on her.

"I really am sorry about everything, Katniss," he spoke up after a moment, shaking her from her reverie. "I wish I had never involved you in this."

She lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. "I kind of involved myself, really." And she had; she had caused the scene at the reaping. But he shook his head.

"I could have lied to Haymitch about you when he asked."

She furrowed her eyebrows. "He would have figured it out, anyway."

He sighed, fidgeting with a button on his coat. "You're probably right about that."

She couldn't help but smirk. "He's pretty perceptive for being drunk all the time."

Unexpectedly, he chuckled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Surprising, right? I sometimes wonder if the alcohol actually enhances his judgment." She laughed weakly, taking a bite of another muffin. After a moment, Peeta looked like he wanted to speak, twisting his water bottle in his hand distractedly, and she waited for him to spit it out. When he finally did, it wasn't what she was expecting. "You won't be stuck with me."

"Huh?" she asked stupidly.

He shifted uncomfortably. "I won't hold you to—being with me. I mean, we can pretend when the cameras are around, when there are events. I assume that'll be once, maybe twice a year during the games and the tour. But if you ever...if there's someone else you want to be with, either now or even later down the road, I won't stop you." When she didn't say anything right away, he rushed ahead, "I mean, we'll have to come up with some kind of arrangement. I don't know how much Snow expects from us, but I'm sure whoever—whoever you fall in love with will hopefully understand the situation."

She just stared at him in shock. She had never given much thought to marriage—hell, she was never really planning to marry. She saw what love had done to her mother; she couldn't bear to open her heart to that kind of hurt. The only real possibility she had before was Gale, but she never entertained the idea seriously; many other girls, girls who were more open with their feelings and desires, wanted him, and she had never really thought about him romantically, anyway. So, really, she had just assumed she'd live alone for the rest of her life, growing old in the house she had grown up in. She'd have her sister until Prim got married, and then she'd live with her mother until she passed away. Then, somewhere down the road, she'd pass away, too. She didn't really have any plans in between that.

And now Peeta was suggesting she'd take on a husband _and_ a lover? The thought was so inane, she wanted to laugh. "Peeta..." She didn't even know where to start. "Forgive my bluntness, but this is a ridiculous conversation. I don't even know how to respond to your—your suggestion that I...I mean, do you want me to date someone else while you and I...?"

He frowned. "Do I want you to? No. But I don't expect that you're going to feel the same way about me that I do about you. If you want to be with someone else, I would understand. The thought that you'd be stuck with me when you don't want me— _fuck_ , it makes me sick."

She raised her eyebrows in astonishment. " _Stuck with you_? Peeta, I can honestly think of worst things than being 'stuck with you.' Do you not want to be stuck with me?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized how scared she felt, how desperately she wanted his answer to be "no."

His eyes widened. "No! I mean," he flushed, swallowing. "If I were with you, I wouldn't be stuck with you. You're my only choice, Katniss. The only choice I want to make." Her mouth parted in surprise, and he leaned forward earnestly. "I'm selfish, I know. The idea of being with you for the rest of my life...I feel terrible admitting it, but part of me wants it so bad, but the other part wants you to want it, too, and not have to be forced into a relationship with me."

She pressed her mouth into her knee, her heart racing. "Peeta, I-I haven't thought much about what I want, honestly," she mumbled, averting her eyes. "I haven't thought about relationships, really. I can't say what I'll want in the future when I don't even know what I want right now. The only thing I'm sure I want is to keep Prim safe."

He sighed quietly, slumping forward and staring at his hands between his legs. "I know. And I'll do everything I can to help you keep her safe."

She lifted her eyes to look at him, her eyes tracing the curls in his hair, the slope of his nose, the way his long eyelashes kissed his cheeks, the downturn of his lips. His soft, pink lips that had pressed against her own many times. Had any of those kisses been real? She wondered. She wanted to know what a kiss would feel like with him, one not stifled by the watchful eyes of the Capitol.

Clearing her throat, she lifted her head off her knees and straightened her back. "Kiss me," she said.

His head snapped up, his jaw slack. "What?" he asked in disbelief.

She tried to keep her face calm, her voice steady. "Kiss me. I want you to kiss me."

"Katniss," he breathed, regarding her doubtfully, and she didn't understand the fear present in his eyes.

"Do you not want to?" she asked, her voice small, and he flinched.

"I _do_. I do. I just..." he trailed off in a pained whisper, still not moving, so she shifted onto her knees and crawled closer to him, tucking her legs against his hip and reaching her hand across his lap to brace herself on the floor. With her body leaning halfway over his, her face hovered inches from his, and she could feel his warm breath fanning across her mouth. Hesitantly, he touched his fingertips to her cheek and trailed them down to her lips, smoothing his thumb over her bottom lip. Her heart pounded painfully as he slid his fingers down to her chin to tilt her face up, and she was sure he could hear it. Slowly, so slowly, he leaned forward, his eyes locked on her own, until his lips brushed against hers.

Careful, she thought. He was being too careful. She didn't want these chaste kisses he always gifted her with when the cameras were around. Impatiently, she pressed her mouth against his harder, but her actions were clumsy and unpracticed; she had never kissed anyone like this before. Her lips moved against his in awkward imitations of the kisses she remembered her parents sharing, but she knew she was doing it wrong. Closing her eyes in embarrassment, she started to pull away, an angry flush creeping up her neck, but Peeta rooted her in place with a hand on the side of her head.

With one more touch of his lips against hers, he pulled her body closer, shifting her onto his lap so that her knees straddled his hips. She blushed at the position, but he dipped her face toward his again, pressing his mouth to hers more urgently this time. With his fingers, he parted her mouth by tugging on her chin lightly, and he ran his tongue along her bottom lip. She jolted at the contact, grasping at his shoulders when he slid his tongue farther into her mouth. Her eyes fluttered open to find his startlingly blue eyes still watching her, but when he closed his, hers followed, and she sunk further into the kiss. His hand slipped down from her chin to curl around her neck, and he tilted his head as their mouths slanted against each other wetly. When he coaxed her tongue into his mouth, he sucked on it lightly, eliciting a small gasp from her.

The sound seemed to rouse them both as his arms circled her waist to crush her body against his, and he groaned into her mouth; her hands flew up to wind through his hair. She mimicked his actions and sucked on his tongue, and her teeth scraped furiously against his soft lips. What was this hunger? It made her greedy. She wanted more; she couldn't get enough. She wasn't sure how long they sat there, both fighting for their fill, but when she felt the strain in her thighs from holding herself up, she dropped her hips to rest in his lap—and jerked her head back when she landed on his erection.

He halted his movements, his wide-eyed stare mirroring her own. "Oh," she breathed dumbly, glancing down—to look at what, she didn't know; her chest was still pressed snuggly against his. But now that she felt his arousal, she was acutely aware of her own, which throbbed between her legs at the very point his hardness pressed against her. Breathing raggedly, she chewed her lip as she thought, and after a tense moment, she shifted her hips experimentally, causing both of them to gasp. Then she did it again, and the pleasure generated by the friction drove her lips back to his.

Peeta's tongue swept into her mouth, and his hand pressed on her tail bone to guide her hips against his as she rocked above him. He dragged his lips down to her neck and sucked eagerly on her flesh, her pulse point, her collar bone, and she arched against him with a moan, lost in the sensations pooling between her thighs.

But Peeta stopped abruptly, shattering the moment, and she squeaked in protest as he moved out from under her. He hurriedly flipped her onto her back, laying her out across his coat. He pushed her legs apart to settle between them, and soon his body was realigned with hers, his mouth latching onto hers, and she readily accepted him, her fingers weaving into his hair again. She couldn't stop touching it; all these years she had been mesmerized by it, had wondered what it felt like, and, now, it slid through her fingers like silk.

His erection pressed into her center, and she wanted to shift her hips against his again in an attempt to chase that pleasure she had discovered previously, but his body pinned hers to the ground. So she sucked at his lips desperately, pressing her body to his as closely as she could.

Finally sensing her urgency, he broke the kiss and positioned his mouth over her neck again, licking from her collar bone to her jaw lazily, and his hand snaked between their bodies. Lifting his hips slightly, he moved his hand between her legs and pressed it against the juncture of her thighs. She gasped and jerked against him, grabbing onto his shoulders.

"Is that what you want?" he murmured in her ear, tugging her earlobe with his teeth. The thickness of his voice made her stomach twist in desire. She didn't know how to speak without embarrassing herself, so she nodded frantically, and she felt his mouth curl into a smile against her neck. His hand moved leisurely, rubbing her through her pants, and he sucked on her collar bone. Her moan caught in her throat as her pelvis undulated against his hand steadily.

When he pulled his hand away, she groaned in frustration, and he chuckled breathlessly against her neck. "Just wait," he said, trailing his hand over her stomach, pushing her shirt up as he went. Her abdomen flexed under his fingers, and when they reached her breasts, they slipped underneath her shirt to trace the seams of her bra. His palm cupped her breast through the flimsy material, and she whimpered, her breath hitching in her throat as his fingers slipped under the cup to tease her nipple. Katniss pulled his face back up, capturing his lips again in a desperate kiss, and Peeta swallowed her moan when he pinched her nipple, tugging on it.

Then he retracted his hand and swiftly pushed her shirt up over her breasts, forcing the cup of the bra down. He quickly slid down her body to suck her nipple into his mouth, eliciting a strangled gasp from her. She glanced down in surprise and watched his teeth scrape against her flesh, and her fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck to hold him in place. When he licked a trail to her other breast, she arched her back, inhaling sharply. She focused on the feel of his tongue laving over her nipple as his hand massaged her other breast—but she wanted him to move lower, for everything to move lower, where she ached the most.

Suddenly, Peeta sat up, and he reached over his shoulders to tug his sweater off, balling it up and gently tucking it under her head. His pale skin was flushed, but the muscles in his chest and stomach were taut underneath, and she allowed herself a moment to drink in the sight of his bare torso. He hunched over her and deftly undid her pants, wiggling them down her hips. As he slid her pants off her legs, her mind raced. This was too fast, wasn't it? But she gasped, her hips lurching off the ground involuntarily when his hand slid between her legs again, rubbing the juncture of her thighs through the damp material of her panties. It just felt too good; she found it impossible to think about anything other than how he was making her feel.

But when he pulled back to unfasten his own pants, her eyes widened. "Peeta," she mumbled, and he paused, leaning down to kiss her. He hummed his response against her mouth. As his lips explored her neck again, she felt her concentration slipping again, and she started to panic. "Peeta, I—I don't wanna have kids!" she blurted, pushing on his chest, and he sat up.

He was breathing heavily, his eyebrows raised. "Oh," he said stupidly. She just stared at him, flabbergasted by her own confession. That wasn't exactly what she had wanted to say. "Oh," he repeated again, and he moved off of her, rolling onto his back beside her. She didn't know what to say, struggling to catch her breath; she felt colder without his warmth above her, and she still throbbed at her core. She was so confused by what had just transpired.

"Me neither," he muttered darkly, and for a second she didn't know what he was referring to. She turned her head to look at him, surprised.

"You don't?"

She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, and he shook his head slowly. "No. I hadn't really thought about it. I mean, before...everything, I figured I would. I guess I had the false sense of security that a lot of Merchants have," he explained softly, gazing at the ceiling. "But after the games...I think I'm too fucked up. I don't even know how I could raise a kid now. And with Snow...no, I don't think I want any children."

She didn't speak for a moment, studying his profile. "Yeah," she finally said.

Peeta rubbed a hand over his face then looked at her, his expression raw. "I'm sorry. I got carried away. I didn't mean to push you..."

She shook her head. "You didn't. I liked it..." she said and placed her hands over her stomach, feeling self-conscious in her half-naked state. She tried to tug her shirt down over her breasts. "I just...We don't have protection. I haven't really thought about having sex before..." He swallowed, closing his eyes, and she tried not to stare at the bulge that strained through the open fly of his pants. "I'm sorry for leading you on."

His eyes flew open, and he looked at her earnestly. "Don't apologize! You didn't lead me on. It's okay," he said, rolling onto his side and touching her face. She closed her eyes as he cradled her cheek. "I just wanted to make you feel good."

When his lips touched hers again, she sighed and surged toward him, sliding her tongue along his. Sucking on her bottom lip, he pulled back, and she opened her eyes to peer up at him. His eyes were dark, lidded, and after a moment he said, "We don't have to have sex. I'd like to go down on you, though. Is that okay?"

She blinked, puzzled. "Go down...? What do you mean?" she asked, already feeling embarrassed that she didn't understand his request.

He quirked an eyebrow in surprise. "Oh. Well..." he trailed off, and his hand slid across her bare thigh, his fingers brushing against her center, and she clenched reflexively, inhaling through her teeth. "Do you like how that feels?" She nodded, and he smiled. "Well, instead of my hand, I want to use my mouth."

Her eyes widened considerably, and he chuckled at her expression. "Oh," she whispered, speechless. "Um...okay."

"So you'll allow it?"

"Y-yes."

Smirking, he settled back between her legs and kissed her fervently, his hand pushing her shirt up to slip underneath her bra again. Pressing her chest into his palm, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He trailed wet kisses down her neck and her chest, pausing to circle her nipple with his tongue and suck it into his mouth. Katniss moaned, but he didn't linger at her breasts long, sliding his tongue farther down her stomach. Idly dipping the tip of his tongue into her navel, he delicately traced his fingers along the lines of her underwear, and she tensed, her legs starting to tremble in anticipation as he skimmed the inside of her thigh. His fingers lingered just at the edge of her center, and he peered up at her questioningly, and she nodded at him. Then his fingers slipped under her panties, sliding between her folds, and she gasped, her thighs clamping around him.

"You're pretty wet," he murmured, kissing her stomach, and his fingers rubbed firmly against her clit. Her hips bucked against his hand, and she groaned, immediately stifling the sound with her fist. Peeta laughed throatily. "Don't do that. I wanna hear you." But she squeezed her eyes shut, her teeth biting into her hand, and she muffled her moans as his fingers worked her methodically.

Quickly, Peeta hooked his fingers around the sides of her panties and yanked them off her legs. Katniss blushed, now that her lower body was bare to him, and he kneeled between her legs, pushing her thighs apart as he aligned his face with her center. "Oh, God," she gasped, digging the heels of her palms into her eyes, seized with a rush of anxiety, and he pressed a reassuring kiss to her thigh.

"It's okay. You're beautiful," he murmured right before his tongue flicked between her folds, and her hips lurched off the ground. She whimpered, her hands grasping at his head, and he licked her again, slowly, deliberately. Splaying his fingers across her pelvis, Peeta pinned her hips to the ground, but when he pushed his tongue inside her, she bucked against his face, moaning loudly. She felt him probing her walls, and she arched her head back. Dazed, she noticed for the first time the window behind her. She stared wide-eyed at the upside down trees with their leafless branches, watching a lone squirrel scamper down a trunk. But when Peeta sucked her clit into his mouth, a cry ripped from her throat, and she clamped her eyes shut, the scenery forgotten as she tugged frantically at his hair. Her thighs seemed to open farther for him, her heavy pants and whimpers puncturing the silence of the cabin.

Swirling his tongue around her clit, Peeta tentatively pushed a finger inside her. Her palms slapped the floor beside her, and she fisted his coat in her hands, panting. When she didn't object, he gingerly slid a second finger inside and pumped his digits in and out, sucking on her clit, hard. Her hips moved frenetically against his face in tandem with his movements, and his name bubbled from her chest in a desperate plea. Suddenly, she felt her body seize up, and she grabbed his head as she arched against him, crying out.

His tongue licked her reverently, once, twice, while she trembled, the aftershocks of her orgasm dissipating, and when she finally slumped to the ground, he sat up, leaning against her knee. "Was that okay?" he asked, and she looked at him hazily.

"Yeah," she croaked out, brushing away the hair that stuck to her forehead with sweat, and Peeta smiled at her, kissing the inside of her knee tenderly.

"Good," he said simply, slipping her underwear back on. He leaned over her to straighten out her bra, and she locked eyes with him as he smoothed her shirt down over her bare stomach. The corner of his mouth tugged into a lopsided smile, and her heart fluttered sharply.

Sighing, he collapsed on his back next to her, and she glanced at him. "Um, thanks," she said shyly, and he flashed her a boyish grin.

"Anytime." Wincing, he tucked his erection back into his pants, and she watched with a blush as he zipped his pants up.

"Sorry," she said meekly, wondering if she should offer to do something for him in return. But she wouldn't even know where to start.

He laughed lowly, shaking his head. "It's okay. I think all guys my age are pretty adept at dealing with inappropriate boners. I'll be fine." Katniss laughed sheepishly, fidgeting with her braid, and after a moment he asked, "You hungry?"

She thought about it and shook her head. "Kind of...tired, though." She felt relaxed, sleepy even, and the heat of the fireplace was comforting.

He looked at her. "Well...it's still early afternoon. You got anywhere to be?"

"No one's expecting me."

Smiling, he moved flush against her, and she felt her face heat up as he wrapped an arm around her waist, urging her onto her side. "Then I say we sleep for a little while," he said, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck, and she closed her eyes with a sigh. He slid his arm under her head to rest on, and he laid his own on his balled-up sweater.

She could feel his hard-on pressing into her backside, and she tried not to think about it or the dampness between her legs. The only sound was the crackling of the fire, and she stared at the flickering flames until her eyes drifted closed. His chest rising and falling against her back eventually lulled her to sleep.

When she woke a couple hours later, she stretched leisurely, rousing Peeta from his slumber. Blinking sleepily, he rubbed his eyes and yawned as he sat up. "That was a good nap," he said languidly, and Katniss hummed her agreement. Feeling chilly, she realized the fire had died out and remembered she didn't have any pants on. She cringed in embarrassment. Grabbing her pants, she pulled them on awkwardly and avoided his eyes. He snatched up his backpack and dug out some of the bread, tearing off a chunk for both of them. She took her slice and nibbled on it quietly. He ate his in silence too, sipping some water between bites.

She watched him from the corner of her eye, taking in the planes of his chest and shoulders. She flushed with desire again, and she shook her head to clear the thoughts. "Do you want to put a shirt on?" she suggested timidly.

He glanced at her in confusion then chuckled lightly. "I'm fine. I don't care if you see me."

She furrowed her eyebrows, picking at her bread. "It's distracting..."

With a wide grin, he placed the bread between his teeth and grabbed his sweater, tugging it down over his head and arms. When it was on, he pulled the bread from his mouth and asked, "Better?"

She nodded, eating the rest of her bread and washing it down with water. "We should probably head back now. It's still a long walk," she said, already pulling her boots on, and Peeta nodded, putting his shoes on too. They put on the rest of their clothes, and he packed up the last of their provisions. Then they headed back out into the woods to start their long hike back home.

The walk back took longer because, occasionally, Peeta would pull her to a stop to flower her with light, playful kisses. She was annoyed at first, reminding him that they needed to get back, but then he pushed her up against a tree with a lusty kiss, and his hot tongue coaxed her into eager submission. She indulged him for a few minutes before she pushed him forward with mock seriousness and commanded him to keep walking. He just grinned and tugged her alongside him, nearly tripping over her heels to nip at her ear.

When they reached the edge of the woods that led to District 12, she started to feel nervous, worried about being seen by others. Luckily, Peeta seemed to sense her apprehension and subdued his affections. As they approached the Seam, she slowed to a stop, and he turned to her.

"I should probably head to my house now..." she said nervously, starting to remove his gloves to give back to him, but he shook his head.

"Just keep them for now. You can return them later," he added when she started to object. She shuffled her feet, unsure what to do next, but he leaned forward and kissed her temple. When he pulled back, he smiled at her.

"See you tomorrow? For trading?" he asked, and she nodded. Turning on his heel, he headed toward the Victor's Village, and after a lingering look, Katniss began her trek through the Seam to her house.

 

Before she even saw him, her stomach twisted with apprehension she didn't understand. Gliding through the snow stealthily, she found Gale at their usual meeting place. He didn't hear her approach, but he didn't startle when she greeted him; he never startled. He turned to say hello, and although he smiled slightly, his face was still guarded.

"Hey. Didn't know if you'd show up today," he said carefully.

Katniss gripped her bow tightly, shifting the quiver of arrows on her shoulder. "Of course, I would. It's Sunday."

With a grunt, he stood up, hooking his bow over his arm, and tried to rub some warmth into his cold hands. "Well, you weren't here last weekend."

She frowned, looking away in guilt. "I didn't really have a choice. Kinda got swept away to the Capitol against my will."

"Yeah, about that..." he trailed off as they headed in the direction of his snares. "What's going on there? Didn't think you and Mellark were continuing this whole relationship ruse."

"Well, we weren't, but with the Victory Tour and everything..." She wasn't sure how much to tell him, about Snow's threat, about how she was expected to continue the "ruse" with Peeta for the rest of her life. She definitely did not plan to tell him about what happened in the cabin, though.

"So it's true that Snow showed up? I heard the talk, but the idea was a little hard to believe without seeing it for myself," he said, amused, after they had walked for a bit.

Katniss sighed. "Yeah. He was my own personal escort and everything," she grumbled.

Gale smirked and started to respond, but he stopped suddenly, surveying the ground. She paused, looking at him curiously. "Someone else has been out here recently," he said slowly, gesturing to some tracks in the snow.

Her heart leapt into her throat when she realized they were Peeta's and her tracks from yesterday. There hadn't been enough snow over night to conceal them. Gale spun around in a circle to take in the rest of the tracks then he looked at her. "I noticed them near the fence, but I didn't think much of it. Just figured you were already out here before I got here. I wonder...you don't think it's Peacekeepers, do you?" he wondered in alarm, and she knew she had to tell him.

With a hard swallow, she shook her head. "No. Gale, uh...it was me...and Peeta."

He froze, staring at her incredulously. "You brought him out _here_? When? Why?" he demanded, narrowing his eyes.

"Yesterday. We needed to talk..."

"In the woods?" he repeated harshly, and she understood why he was upset, but she flinched in indignation regardless.

"Yes, we needed to talk somewhere privately, and the woods were the only place I could think of." She didn't dare bring up the cabin now.

"Mellark has an entire damn house to himself," he said bitterly. "How much more private could you need?"

She huffed, swiping her hair out of her face. "He thinks Snow has his house bugged. I don't know. We needed to talk about what Snow expects of us, and we didn't—"

Gale interrupted her, narrowing his eyes again. "Wait, what do you mean? What does Snow expect of you?"

Her shoulders slumped, and she sighed. It looked like she was going to have to have this conversation with him regardless. "He told both of us that we needed to, to—well, we're gonna have to be together. Indefinitely," she said awkwardly.

He pulled back slightly, his mouth twisting in an ugly grimace. "Together? For how long?"

She shrugged, kicking at some snow. "However long indefinitely is, I guess," she mumbled. Her cheeks burned from the cold—or maybe despite the cold, she wasn't sure. She suddenly wished she had worn Peeta's scarf after all.

Gale made some sort of strangled sound in the back of his throat. "I don't understand. Why? Why do you have to be with him?"

She pursed her lips, her heart rate picking up. "I don't have a choice, Gale—"

"How do you not have a choice? You're allowed to be with whoever you want, marry whoever you want!"

He was yelling, and she cringed. "Gale, lower your voice. You're going to scare all the game away."

His nostrils flared. "I don't care about the fucking _game_ right now, Katniss. I care about—why the _fuck_ you're being forced into a relationship with Mellark. What did he do?"

Gale wasn't wrong, but she felt defensive about Peeta, anyway. "Stop. It's not his fault. I mean, not entirely. It's my fault, too. We both fucked up." She sighed in frustration, hooking her bow over her elbow. "We don't have a choice because Snow threatened to—to sell both of us and Prim into sex slavery in the Capitol if we didn't go along with this charade."

His face went slack, and he stared at her in horror. "What? Why would he do that?"

Katniss lifted an eyebrow. "Really, you want to know why a man who sanctions the murder of children would also sanction the prostitution of them as well?" she asked bitingly, and Gale shook his head.

"No, I get it. You don't have to convince me that the president is a monster, believe me. What I'm asking is, why _you_? Why Mellark? Why is Snow targeting you two? What the hell happened?"

She hesitated, wondering how much she should tell him. Would she be putting him at risk by divulging what little information she knew? Gale resented the Capitol more than anyone she knew, even more than she did. If he knew about uprisings and the hints of rebellion in the districts...what would he do with that information? "Gale, I...I don't know if I should tell you. My family is already in danger. I don't want to involve you in anything that could potentially endanger your family too..."

His face contorted with an emotion she didn't understand, and he suddenly seized her arm, pulling her closer to him. "You're my family, Katniss. Don't you get that? And you're telling me that Snow is personally threatening you, forcing you into a relationship with someone you don't even _like_."

Her eyes widened. "W-what? That's not—I don't...I don't _not_...like Peeta."

Gale glared at her. "What do you mean? I thought the things you said, the shit you did after he came back, that was for the games."

She opened and closed her mouth, her brain struggling for a response. "I...I don't know. He's—I mean, he's a good person. He's kind. I—I don't know!"

"But you said it was pretend. You two barely even spoke to each other afterward." Something in his eyes, his voice was desperate, and it made her heart hurt.

"We—we've gotten friendlier," she said lamely, her voice pleading. She had never told Gale about her visits with Peeta on Sundays to trade with him. At the time, she didn't know why; she just knew the two didn't coexist well in her mind. But now she understood. Now, the sense of betrayal she felt in the pit of her stomach was reflected in his eyes. She thought about what she and Peeta did yesterday in the cabin, and her cheeks flamed with heat and guilt.

" _Friendlier_?" he repeated, his eyes widening. "Do you—do you like him?" A strained whimper escaped her. She didn't know what to say. Pain creased his face. "You can't—that's not fair. What about me?" Her jaw dropped, and she stared at him wordlessly. Gale suddenly caressed her face, an action so gentle, so unlike how he normally handled her. Then without warning, he captured her lips with his in an urgent kiss. She stared at his closed eyes in bewilderment, not daring to move or breathe. When she felt his tongue slip into her mouth and slide along hers, she was jolted from her paralysis—and, unexpectedly, she found herself kissing him back eagerly, fisting his coat tightly in her hand to pull him closer.

But then he groaned quietly in the back of his throat, and she panicked, pushing on his chest to break the kiss. He looked wounded when she shook her head and took a step back to put some distance between them. "Gale, I-I can't. Peeta, he..." she faltered, and his bruised lips curved into a heartbreaking grimace.

"So you're choosing him, then?" he asked, his voice hollow.

"I don't have a choice," she told him, told herself, really, but he shook his head sadly.

"Bullshit. You always have a choice. Despite what Snow wants, you can still choose what you want."

Katniss rubbed her brow with her numb fingers. "I don't—I don't know anything right now. I'm just confused..."

Gale's face hardened, and he shifted his bow over his shoulder. "Well, let me know when you've got it worked out." With that, he turned to head back the way they came.

She stared after him. "Gale! But—what about the snares?" she called after him, and he just waved at her over his shoulder dismissively. Her feet shuffled, unsure of their direction, as she thought about following him, until she sighed and headed toward the snares. There were a few rabbits, which she disentangled from the snares and shoved into her game bag. She debated hunting by herself, but she suddenly felt alone. She was seized with an overwhelming need to see Peeta. Gritting her teeth, she made her way back to Twelve and toward the Victor's Village.


	6. Chapter 6

**vi. We're separate, two ghosts in one mirror, no nearer**

The dough had just finished rising when Peeta heard the knock on his door. Curious, he wandered out of the kitchen to answer the door. It was Sunday, but it was too early for Katniss; she should still be out hunting with Gale. Maybe it was his father or Rye. Occasionally, they would visit him, even though things were still somewhat tense since his parents had fired him from the bakery.

Opening the door, he was surprised to find Katniss on his step. "You're early," he said, ushering her inside. She smiled weakly, brushing past him. Once he shut the door, he turned toward her, and she shifted awkwardly, glancing around. He wanted to gather her in his arms and kiss her, but he didn't know how she would react. He didn't really know how to act toward her after yesterday, what she was comfortable with, or if they had even made any progress. But he could still taste her on his tongue, had thought about their time in the cabin nonstop, and he had to fight the urge to lay her out across his kitchen table and make her come again.

"Yeah, well..." she finally responded, her voice quiet, and she fidgeted with her game bag. "Gale and I...had an argument."

He raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. She never talked about Gale. "Oh." He headed back into the kitchen, motioning for her to follow him. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked tentatively as he pulled the dough out of the bowl and dropped it on the counter.

Katniss dropped her game bag on the table with a sigh. "Not really. Maybe. I don't know."

He chuckled in amusement, flattening the dough out to begin pounding it. "Okay. Well, if you change your mind—"

"He kissed me."

His fist slammed into the dough, and his heart dropped into his stomach. He didn't speak for a moment, trying to digest her words. "He—kissed you?" he echoed, staring at the dough.

"Yes," she confirmed softly from over his shoulder.

"Did you...kiss him back?" he asked, staring at the counter. She didn't respond at first.

"Yes."

"I see." He punched the dough again, and again, and again. His fists connected with the dough harder and harder each time until he was pummeling the dough in anger.

"Peeta—" she started, but he cut her off.

"It's fine. I'm fine," he said stiffly, breathing heavily, slamming his fist into the dough, hard. His hands ached, but he barely felt it.

"Well, clearly, you're not!"

He stopped abruptly, rolling the dough into one large lump. "This is what I told you about, isn't it? I told you that you didn't have to be stuck with me, and you won't be."

She sighed in barely contained frustration. "What are you talking about?"

Pulling out a couple loaf pans, he divided the dough into two separate pieces and plopped them into the pans. "If you want Gale, you can be with Gale. I won't—I won't stand in your way."

She was quiet for a moment, and he didn't dare look at her, taking his time forming the dough in the pans. He should have known. He couldn't compete with Gale. He should have known this was going to happen. He didn't have a shot with Katniss. He never did. His mother was right. Who would want him? All he did was cause others pain and misery. Why did he survive the games? He clenched his jaw in anger.

"I never...I didn't say I wanted Gale."

"But you kissed him," he gritted out.

"I also kissed you!" she practically shouted, and he snorted derisively.

"Well, lucky for you, you get to have me, too," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Katniss growled in irritation. "What is with you two? I didn't ask for this! I didn't ask for you two to kiss me—" He spun around to give her an incredulous look, and she faltered, her expression dropping. "Okay, well, I didn't ask Gale to kiss me! I didn't even—I didn't even know he liked me!"

Peeta grunted, rolling his eyes. "Guess it was pretty obvious to everyone but you. So tell me, then, when he kissed you, did you just kiss him back out of surprise or out of pity? Or did you finally realize you like him, too?"

She glowered at him, curling her hands into fists at her sides. "How dare you. Like you have any right to—to demand things of me, like you're so innocent, like you've never touched anyone else. You expect me to believe yesterday was the first time you'd ever done that?" she spat, and her words knocked the air from his lungs like a punch to the gut.

His face burned with shame, and he immediately felt contrite, dropping his gaze. He thought about the other girls he had fooled around with, the first girl he'd had sex with—her name was Lainey, a girl from town—and then Madge. Did she know about Madge? She couldn't—could she? He didn't think she would take it so well if she did. Madge was her friend, or at least, he thought she was. They seemed friendly enough, eating lunch with each other at school. He swallowed thickly, rubbing his face, not even caring that he was smearing flour everywhere. He was such an asshole.

"I'm sorry," he said hoarsely, slumping against the counter. "I'm sorry. You're right. I have no right...I'm being unfair."

"And mean," she interjected coolly, crossing her arms over her chest, and he nodded.

"And mean. I'm sorry. I was hurt, and I lashed out. I'm sorry," he repeated honestly, catching her eye. She frowned, looking at the ground. Finally, she sighed, uncrossing her arms and trailing her fingers over the kitchen table.

"It's okay," she mumbled, and after a moment, Peeta pushed off the counter and approached her, unsure. She regarded him warily. Licking his lips, he touched her arms and raised his eyebrows in question.

"Is it okay if I—hug you?" he asked timidly, and she pursed her lips as she thought then nodded. Sighing in relief, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rested his head on top of hers. She hesitated then encircled her arms around his waist. They stood like that for a moment, Peeta running a hand down her braid, and she buried her face against his neck, inhaling shakily.

When he pulled away, they stared at each other, and, sighing, he ghosted a hand down her temple, her cheek. "Well, I'm sorry you had an argument with Gale. And I'm sorry to have made it worst."

Clearing her throat, she glanced around the kitchen. "It happens. We, uh...well, I told him about you. About us, I mean."

He quirked an eyebrow. "What did you tell him exactly?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

"Not...everything. Just that you and I...have a deal," she said cryptically, speaking as quietly as him. He swallowed his disappointment, just nodding. She'd only told Gale about what Snow expected of them. Not that she wanted him. Not even that they were together, necessarily.

Tugging on her braid absently, he stepped away and moved back to the counter to put his bread in the oven. "Well, what would you like me to make you today?" he asked lightheartedly, changing the conversation. She looked at him in question when he turned around, and he waved at her bag on the table. "To trade."

She pinched her eyebrows together in thought. "Actually, I haven't made it to town yet. I need to go to the Hob to get some stuff. Is that okay?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Sure."

She hesitated. "Do you want to come with me?"

Surprised, he exhaled loudly. "Okay. If you're fine with that." He glanced at the oven. "I just gotta be back within an hour to take the bread out."

Katniss nodded, snatching up her bag. "Let's go then."

Peeta put on his coat and snow boots, and then they were out the door. They didn't speak during their walk, and he didn't attempt to hold her hand; he doubted she would want him to, and he still felt awful about being cruel toward her. He had no right to demand any kind of commitment from her. She didn't owe him anything; he was just what she was stuck with. Still, the thought of Gale kissing her made him seethe with bitterness. If he had to stand by while the two of them fell in love and he only got the castoffs of her affections when the cameras came around, he didn't know if he would be able to stomach it. Now he knew why Snow didn't just round him up and sell him off to the highest bidder in the Capitol; Snow knew, in the end, that would probably be a mercy to the daily torture of never really having Katniss.

Bundling his coat around him tighter, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She seemed lost in thought, her brow furrowed in consternation as she kept her eyes trained on the ground. Stifling a sigh, Peeta looked up ahead and slowed to a near stop when he noticed a crowd gathered near the center of town. There was a sound, too, something that didn't seem quite right, and his ears strained to hone in on it. "What is that?" he wondered out loud, jarring Katniss from her thoughts, but as soon as the words left his mouth, realization hit him. It was the sound of flesh being struck repeatedly. His stomach twisted with the barrage of memories of his and his brothers' abuse, and he jumped up on a crate outside of the sweetshop to peer over the crowd to locate the sound.

"What, what is it?" Katniss demanded, trying to climb up beside him to see for herself, and his heart stopped when he saw the spectacle everyone was watching: It was Gale, shirtless and strung up by his wrists to a wooden post, his back stripped bloody and raw. The sound he'd heard was the crack of a whip, wielded by a peacekeeper, as it sliced against his skin. He turned to Katniss to tell her to go back home, but it was too late; he could tell by how white her face had gone that she had seen.

The next thing he knew, she was darting off the crate and shoving her way through the crowd. With her game bag still over her shoulder. Panicked, Peeta jumped down and chased after her. Before she could push her way to the front, he yanked her back, and she swung around wildly, trying to fend him off, but he caught her hand and shoved her behind him. "Stop! You're gonna get yourself in trouble, too!" he hissed, and before she could object, he swiveled around the person in front of him and put himself between Gale and the peacekeeper, throwing his arm up to block the next strike.

"Stop!" he cried, gasping as the whip wrapped around his exposed wrist, cutting into his skin. The peacekeeper seemed startled, and his arm dropped, lessening the slack on the whip, and it unraveled from Peeta's wrist. A thin line of blood blossomed in a couple loops around his wrist. Katniss dashed behind him, dropping to her knees beside Gale, who was unconscious. This time, she'd left her game bag behind.

With a snarl, the peacekeeper lifted his arm again to ready his next hit. "You're interfering with official business here."

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Peeta stood up straighter. He didn't recognize this peacekeeper, but he hoped the peacekeeper recognized him. "And what exactly is the business here? This is my friend," he fibbed, "and you've whipped him bloody. What could he have possibly done to warrant such punishment?"

"I caught him poaching on Capitol land, a punishable offense."

Peeta glanced behind him. Katniss was whispering hysterically to Gale, trying to wake him up as she tugged uselessly at his restraints. On the wooden post, a wild turkey had been nailed. That must have been what he had been caught poaching. "And is poaching a capital offense? Because he looks on the verge of death!"

The peacekeeper growled, taking a menacing step toward him, but another peacekeeper he recognized, who had been off to the side watching with the others, intervened. "I think the number of lashes, at least for a first-time offense, has been dispensed, sir. If your sentence is death, then we would execute him by firing squad," she said grimly.

"Is that the standard protocol around here?" the Head Peacekeeper asked gruffly, and the other peacekeepers nodded. "Fine." He looked back at Peeta, recognition flashing in his eyes, and he bared his teeth in distaste. "Get your friend out of here, Victor. But tell him, if I catch him poaching again, I'll round up the firing squad myself." He flicked a gloved hand down the length of his whip, splattering blood on the dirty snow, and coiled it up before stalking off. The rest of the peacekeepers followed in formation behind him. With a huff, Peeta turned around to Gale and knelt down beside Katniss.

"Is he—?" he started, not sure what he intended to ask, and she looked at him, her lips unnaturally pale.

"He's breathing, but I can't get him to wake up," she said, her voice strained, and she continued to tug on his ropes.

Looking back at the crowd, Peeta yelled, "Can we get a knife?" The spectators glanced at each other cluelessly, but to his surprise, Haymitch emerged from the crowd, whipping out the switchblade he normally carried with him. Nodding his thanks, Peeta took the knife and cut Gale's wrists free. The dark-haired man slumped to the ground despite Katniss' efforts to hold him up.

"Here, Louise said we could use the board from her countertop as a stretcher," Haymitch grunted, trudging a long wooden plank behind him and dropping it on the ground. "Better get him to your mother, girl."

Peeta and Haymitch managed to lift Gale onto the stretcher, and finally their actions seemed to rouse the crowd. A couple of people, coalminers who probably knew Gale, stepped forward to help them carry his prone body to the Everdeen house, while the rest of the crowd dispersed. A girl Peeta didn't know appeared at Katniss' side, and she directed her to the Hawthorne household to get Gale's mother. As they began their hike to the Seam, Katniss fell into step with the stretcher, grabbing Gale's hand. Peeta pushed aside the flicker of hurt. "Katniss, your bag," he grunted from his edge of the board at Gale's feet, motioning to the game bag forgotten on the ground as they passed by it. She nodded and double backed to grab it, but then she was immediately back at Gale's side, whispering into his ear.

Someone must have run ahead to alert Mrs. Everdeen because she was already waiting on her doorstep for their arrival, Prim at her side. They barely managed to squeeze the stretcher through the door, and they set it on the table. Mrs. Everdeen and Prim got to work promptly, cleaning and rearranging the skin on Gale's back. The sight was gruesome, enough so to send the few coalminers who'd helped out the door, and Peeta nodded his thanks as they left. Just then, Gale's mother burst into the house, her face pale, and she collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table, stifling a cry of anguish as she caressed her son's head. Katniss sat vigilantly on Gale's other side, his hand grasped in both of hers and pressed to her mouth.

Peeta turned away, catching Haymitch's eye as the older man slinked toward the door. "Hey," he said, stopping him before he could leave, and Haymitch looked at him expectantly. Moving closer, Peeta threw another look at Gale. "What do you make of this?" he asked quietly. Peeta couldn't recall the last time he had seen the peacekeepers punish anyone. And for poaching? They were the first in line to buy Katniss' and Gale's game.

Haymitch hummed noncommittally at first then responded, "New Head Peacekeeper. Name's Thread. I'd heard earlier this week that ol' Cray had been replaced. I guess the Capitol's cracking down on us now."

Peeta's eyes widened. "So you think Snow sent him here to keep us in line?" Haymitch nodded. "Is this my fault?" Peeta asked in alarm, his eyes drifting back to Gale's mangled back.

Haymitch snorted, clapping Peeta on the shoulder. "Probably. I'm sure you didn't help matters." Peeta looked at him sourly. "Sorry, kid. I told you there'd be consequences." With one last meaningful look, his mentor swept out of the house, bounding down the stairs.

A pained groan grabbed his attention, and he looked back at Gale, who had finally regained consciousness. He hissed in agony when Mrs. Everdeen touched a particular wound, and both his mother and Katniss attempted to soothe him, but luckily, he passed out again soon after. Peeta lingered by the door, unsure if he should leave or stay. He wasn't of any help now, and no one seemed to notice he was still there, anyway. The throbbing in his wrist reminded him of his own injury, and he held his wrist up for inspection. The gash had bled some more, dripping down his wrist, but the blood had started to dry.

Suddenly, Prim was at his side, holding up a bandage and a wash cloth with a small smile. He shook his head. "No, I'm fine," he started, but she looked at him sternly, taking his wrist and pushing the sleeve back. Wincing, he waited patiently as she wiped off the blood and wrapped the bandage around his arm. "Thank you," he said softly, and she patted his wrist.

"I'm sorry we don't have any kind of ointment to put on it," she said regretfully, but he smiled.

"This is plenty." She beamed, but then her face was serious again, and she went back to her mother's side to assist.

There was a knock on the door. No one else had heard it, so Peeta answered it. The sight of Madge startled him. "Madge, what are you...?"

She smiled at him sadly, holding up a small case. "I heard about Gale. Here, this should help him. It's morphling. It's my mother's," she said urgently, pressing the case into his hands.

He glanced between her face and the case. "Do you want to come in?"

She looked torn, glancing over his shoulder, and her face constricted with pain at the sight. But she shook her head. "No, I have to get back. But tell them—" she faltered, seeming to think better of it, and shook her head again. "Just tell them whatever you want. I'll see you around, Peeta."

He squeezed her gloved hand before she could dart off, looking at her earnestly. "Thank you, Madge." He smiled at her, wanting to apologize, wanting to tell her so many things, but she seemed to understand. With one last smile, she jumped off the front steps and hurried back to her house. Shutting the door, he opened the case. The inside was lined with a syringe and vials of clear liquid. Walking into the kitchen, he held the case out to Mrs. Everdeen, who seemed to notice him for the first time. Gale had started to moan again, trembling from the pain.

"What's that?" she asked curtly, and her question piqued Katniss' interest, who finally looked up, seeming to also realize Peeta was still there.

"Morphling. From Madge. She said to use it for Gale."

"Why would she bring that?" Katniss asked suspiciously, her eyes narrowing. Peeta stared at her as Mrs. Everdeen took the case from him.

Because she likes him? Because you're too dense to understand your own feelings, let alone someone else's? "She heard what happened," he said instead, keeping his voice steady. "She just wanted to help."

Guilt flashed across her face, and, seemingly satisfied with his answer, she focused her attention back on Gale. Her mother filled a vial and quickly injected him with the morphling. The effect was almost instant, and Gale sighed before his body slumped on the stretch as he drifted back into unconsciousness.

Peeta decided to leave. There was nothing left to do. "I've got to get back," he said, but only Prim seemed to hear him. "Bread in the oven," he offered as explanation, and she smiled in understanding, waving goodbye. He glanced one more time at Katniss, but she didn't even look at him as she rested her forehead on Gale's hand. With a resigned sigh, he left the Everdeen house and slowly ambled back to Victor's Village alone.

His leg really hurt today.

 

Peeta dropped back by their house the next morning to check on Gale and bring some baked goods for Katnniss and her family to eat. It was a school day, so Katniss and Prim weren't there. Mrs. Everdeen greeted him warmly, readily accepting the food he'd brought.

"How is he today?" he asked, looking over Gale's now bandaged back.

She sighed. "Better. I got the wounds cleaned, put a snow coat on his back and then bandaged it. The morphling is a blessing. Keeps him knocked out most of the time and numbs the pain. But it's gonna take a while to heal."

"He's in good hands," he said reassuringly, and she smiled her gratitude. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Well, I appreciate you bringing this food by," she said, her voice thick with exhaustion. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" he asked, and she shook her with a small smile. "Why don't you get some now, and I'll keep an eye on Gale?" Mrs. Everdeen started to object, but he smiled. "It's fine, really. My whole day is wide open. Get some rest."

Either Katniss took after her father, or Mrs. Everdeen was too tired to argue because she simply smiled and murmured a quiet thanks before she disappeared out of the living room; her daughter would have put up a better fight. Limping slightly, he crossed to the kitchen table and plopped down in a chair near Gale's head. He looked incredibly more relaxed today than he did yesterday; he knew Mrs. Everdeen had done what she could—without her help, his back would surely heal slower—but most of the pain relief was thanks to Madge. The morphling, the mockingjay pin. It seemed the girl was everywhere with her gifts.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there before Gale stirred, his eyes fluttering open. It took him a moment to focus in on Peeta. "M'lark?" he slurred, and Peeta cleared his throat, leaning forward.

"Yeah, you need anything?"

"Cold," he responded quietly. Peeta found a quilt on the couch, and he laid it out over Gale's bare back carefully.

"Does that help?" he asked, sitting back down. Gale nodded, still squinting at him. "Are you in any pain right now?"

"No..." Gale smiled slightly then. "I feel pretty good right now."

Peeta pursed his lips in a small smile. "You can thank the morphling for that."

"Morphling?" Gale grunted in confusion. "Shit's expensive. How'd I get that?"

Peeta hesitated. "Uh, Madge brought it for you." That seemed to confuse Gale further.

"Madge? The mayor's daughter?" he clarified. Peeta nodded. "Huh. What'd she do that for?"

Sitting back in his chair, Peeta looked around the kitchen to avoid his face. "She's nice. Maybe you should ask her yourself someday," he answered vaguely. He knew it wasn't his place to tell Gale the motivation behind Madge's actions.

Gale grunted again, closing his eyes, and after a moment Peeta thought he had fallen back to sleep. But then he opened his eyes and said, "What're you doin' here, M'lark? I don't even like you."

Peeta tried not to flinch. He knew Gale didn't like him, but it didn't feel particularly good to hear it out loud. He wasn't completely innocent either; he'd never been very fond of the hunter from the Seam, but he knew his dislike was illogical and based solely on jealousy. He still respected him. As for why Gale disliked him, he wasn't sure; the class differences certainly aggravated the hostility, but maybe Gale just saw in Peeta what his own mother saw in him, just something deep down that they could see, that he could feel about himself.

"I just thought I'd see how I could help," he said gruffly, running a hand through his hair. "I got nowhere else to be today."

"Huh. Catnip told me...you stepped in yesterday. Stopped the peacekeeper," Gale mumbled, looking at him through glazed eyes.

Catnip? Peeta realized that must be a nickname for Katniss. It tasted bitter on his tongue. "Yeah, well. She was about to throw herself in front of you with her bag full of rabbits," he explained with a wry smile. "Figured I could do a better job at dissuading him from whipping you further."

Gale snorted. "She was never one to think things through." Peeta just shook his head. He started to fidget as Gale continued to stare at him skeptically. "I wanna hate you. Can't you at least try to make it easier to hate you?" he grumbled, and Peeta furrowed his eyebrows.

"Well, if it helps, it's my fault you got whipped." The older boy quirked an eyebrow, so Peeta elaborated, "I'm pretty sure Snow sent the new Head Peacekeeper to Twelve to crack down on infractions. Probably to send a warning to me."

Gale squinted again. "S'that so? And why's Snow so concerned with you?"

Peeta's mouth tightened, and he shook his head. "It's probably best you don't know," he said quietly, and Gale snorted.

"That's what Catnip tried to tell me. This secretive bullshit's getting' real annoyin'..." Gale stared at him as if trying to decipher his thoughts. "Something's happ'nin' beyond Twelve, innit? In the other districts? 'Cuz things seemed too subdued here to be of much concern to Snow." Swallowing, Peeta kept his eyes on the floor, the toe of his boot scuffing the table leg. "Thought so. Huh. Good." Gale closed his eyes again.

"You should get some rest," Peeta murmured. Gale just nodded drowsily. After a moment, he responded in a voice so quiet, Peeta had to lean over him to hear it. "Thanks, M'lark. Owe you one."

Soon, his light snores filled the silence of the kitchen. Peeta slumped down in his chair until Mrs. Everdeen woke from her nap a couple hours later and sent him home.


	7. Chapter 7

**vii. In a little while, I'll be gone**

Peeta swung by the Everdeens a couple times throughout the week to check on Gale and bring some food, but once Gale became more coherent, Peeta figured his presence wasn't needed anymore. Gale went back home after a week. Peeta didn't see Katniss at all during that time, either, though that wasn't so strange because he normally only saw her on Sundays. But she didn't come by the following Sunday either. He tried not to take it personally, but it still hurt.

That week, it stormed heavily for a few days. Everything in town shut down, including the Hob and the mines. Peeta couldn't leave his house during the blizzard, the snow falling fast and hard and thick. He fretted over whether Katniss and her family were eating okay while her hunting was postponed; he considered braving the weather and taking some food to them, but he knew that would only annoy Katniss. And probably put his life at grave risk.

So he painted, and he baked. When he got tired of baking, he drank. And paced the house. Desperate for human interaction, he debated trekking the short way to Haymitch's house at one point but eventually decided against it. He had started to call the older man when he remembered Haymitch tore his phone out a long time ago. He didn't know how Haymitch dealt with the isolation.

At his wit's end, Peeta painted some more. When he ran out of canvases, he decided to use a blank wall in his studio. First he painted Rue; then he added Coralie. As he was accentuating Coralie's black hair with blue highlights, an idea struck him; he decided to paint a mural of the 74th games, with all 23 fallen tributes.

Peeta had just started painting Ester when he looked out the small window and realized, at some point, the snow had stopped. He nearly dropped his brush in relief. He'd finish the mural later; he was desperate to get outside. Jogging down the stairs, he slipped into his coat and had just barely pulled his boots on before stumbling out his front door. He pulled up short when he noticed the roads around the Victor's Village had already been somewhat cleared; it must have stopped snowing sooner than he'd realized. Tucking his bare hands under his armpits, he crossed the distance to Haymitch's house. He used his legs and arms to push the piles of snow off the older man's front steps, creating a small pathway to the front door. He didn't bother knocking, wedging the door open with his shoulder and tumbling inside as he nearly tripped over his prosthetic.

Haymitch's house wasn't much warmer than outside, and the wet snow on his hands was making Peeta shiver. He found his mentor passed out on a ratty couch in the living room, clutching a nearly empty liquor bottle and his switchblade. Peeta checked the thermostat and lightly bumped up the heat, rubbing some warmth into his hands as he picked his way back to the couch. There was trash everywhere, and after a while he gave up and just started kicking things out of his way. Liquor bottles clanged together, but the noise wasn't enough to stir Haymitch.

"Haymitch," he called as a warning; he knew it took a lot more to rouse the man. He gave him a solid kick to his thigh and jumped back when Haymitch lurched into a sitting position, swinging his knife. But he never lost his grip on his liquor. "Good morning, sweetheart," Peeta deadpanned, and Haymitch squinted at him, bleary-eyed.

"What're you doing here?" he grunted, taking a swig from his bottle.

"Making sure you haven't managed to waste away during the storm," Peeta said drily. "Congratulations, you're only halfway there. You eaten anything lately?"

Haymitch shot him a sour look. "Hell if I know. Let me drink in peace, kid," he groused, flopping back down on the couch. He took another swallow of his liquor, but some of it dribbled down his chin, catching in the graying whiskers.

"I'll bring you some bread then," Peeta offered, ignoring his mentor's grunts of disapproval as he surveyed the living room. "You got a shovel or anything, Haymitch?"

The older man waved vaguely over his head. "Somewhere in the basement, I think. Around the water heater maybe."

The basement door groaned heavily on its hinges, and Peeta wondered when the last time was Haymitch had ventured down there. He flicked on a light, mildly surprised by the amount of boxes that filled the basement floor. Aside from the piles of trash, the rest of Haymitch's house was depressingly bare. Little furniture, no personal touches. Peeta wondered if this was where he kept all those things. Everything was dusty, but he could make out a couple words written in big, bold marker on the sides of the boxes. Some were marked "Ma," and others, "Tristan."

Peeta stood dumbly in the middle of the basement, staring at the boxes and wondering if this was all that remained of Haymitch's family. A family Peeta knew nothing about. The older man didn't like to talk about himself; when they drank together, he never got personal, and Peeta never pried. But now he wondered, what had happened to everyone Haymitch loved? After a few minutes, he finally forced himself to move, promising himself to ask his mentor about "Ma" and "Tristan" one of these days. He found a shovel by the water heater, as Haymitch indicated, careful not to disturb anything else, and bounded up the stairs. Back in the living room, he snatched the bottle from Haymitch's hand, who glared at him and held his blade up threateningly, but Peeta just took a deep gulp from the bottle, wincing as the liquid burned his throat.

Handing it back to Haymitch, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Needed to get warm," he explained cheekily. "Gonna go dig my family out. I'll be back later with food."

The road from the Victor's Village into town had been mostly cleared. Peeta had stopped back by his house to grab his gloves, then he headed back toward town, to his family's bakery. Paths through the Merchant area had been delineated somewhat by district officials, but snowdrifts still piled up around shop doors. Once he had reached the bakery, he began shoveling the snow off the front step. When it was cleared, he kicked the snow off his boots and opened the front door. The lights were on, but the usual aromas that greeted him when he visited were eerily absent. The door chimed, alerting the bakery's occupants of his presence, and his father emerged from the back. His face lit up when he saw Peeta.

"Hey, son. Did you walk all this way in the snow?" he asked, wiping his hands on his apron.

"Yeah, I thought I'd help clear out some of the snow," he said, leaning on the shovel. "Where is everybody?"

"Your mother's upstairs. Rye's probably still asleep. Not really much for him to do right now," his dad explained. "When it first started snowing hard, I sent Barm home. Didn't want him to get stuck here, what with Marnie being pregnant and all."

His oldest brother had gotten married not long after Peeta had returned from the games. They'd found out she was pregnant while he was away on the Victory Tour.

Nodding in understanding, Peeta rested the shovel against the wall and surveyed the empty display cases. "Where's all the food?" he asked. His dad's face took on a stern expression.

"With the blizzard, the trains haven't been running, and we haven't gotten our usual shipment of supplies. We're running low, so I haven't even baked anything this week. We haven't had any customers, anyway. We've just been eating leftovers. I put what was left in the fridge to try to salvage it as long as possible."

Peeta frowned. That wasn't good. At that moment, he heard footsteps on the stairs. His mother's voice reached them before she stepped onto the bakery floor. "Faren, who are you talking—oh," she said when she noticed Peeta, and he fought back a grimace. "It's you. What are you doing here?"

"I cleared out some of the snow in front of the bakery," he repeated quietly, waving to the shovel.

She snorted, eyeing him critically. "Well, lot of good that does us if no one else in town can get out of their houses either."

He choked back a rush of embarrassment. "I'm planning to go around to help others, too," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. She just snorted again, turning her attention back to his father.

"Well, go get your lazy son up, then, and put him to work. It's been a week. People are going to be needing some fresh food!" she commanded, and his dad shot him an exasperated look before he headed upstairs. Now that he was just him and his mother, Peeta shifted off his artificially leg awkwardly, avoiding her stare. But he could feel it boring into the side of his head. Finally, she spoke up.

"If you were going to come all this way, you could have at least brought some money," she said sourly. "Once the trains are running again, prices for supplies are going to skyrocket with the rise in demand. With all your winnings, you should think about your family for once."

He sighed, looking down. "I didn't think to bring any this time. I'll come back by tomorrow with some money." They fell quiet for a moment until his mother once again broke the silence.

"I heard what happened to that Hawthorne boy. Serves him right," she sniffed haughtily, and Peeta bit back a retort. His defiance would only incite her wrath. "Fine group of troublemakers you're associating with, Peeta. But I guess you fit right in, don't you?"

Clenching his jaw, he stuffed his hands into his coat pockets to conceal their trembling. His mother moved closer to him, her arms crossed over her chest as she arched an eyebrow, as if she were daring him to respond. He kept his eyes trained on the floor, feeling like a helpless child all over again. "Gale's just trying to feed his family, just like everybody else," he said stiffly, and she scoffed.

"By stealing. He could try making an honest living, did he ever think of that?"

"He does," he said stubbornly. "The mines don't pay enough. He's got three siblings." But it didn't matter what he said; his mother would never change her opinion of the Seam. She thought they were all lazy, immoral, ignorant people.

"And whose fault is it that Hazelle Hawthorne couldn't keep her legs closed?" she shot back, and Peeta's temper flared.

"It wasn't like she knew her husband was going to die," he spat, and he immediately regretted his tone when he saw the way her eyes flashed. She didn't like defiance.

"Well, you just think about what you're doing to the Mellark name when you consort with their kind!" she snapped at him. "If you're going to play down in the mud with the rest of the Seam trash, leave our family out of it!"

His hands shook in his pockets, and anger loosened his tongue. "I don't think I can tarnish our name any more than you have, _mother_."

Her hand shot out so fast, he didn't have time to steel himself for the impact; her palm cracked against his cheek, and he reeled from the slap, stepping backward as he caught himself from stumbling. His mother glowered at him, and his left cheek stung, his eye welling with tears. She always knew exactly how and where to strike to cause the most amount of pain with the littlest amount of energy spent on her part.

"How dare you talk to me like that," she hissed, and he clamped his mouth shut, moving toward the door.

"Tell dad I'll be outside shoveling snow," he ground out over his shoulder, grabbing the shovel. He slammed the door behind him, silencing her before she could sputter out a response. He wouldn't have been surprised if she chased after him just to hurl more insults at him, so he bounded down the stairs as quickly as he could without slipping. His cheek burned in the cold wind, and he scooped up some snow to press against the welt for a moment.

A few other merchants were out trying to clear the snow from their walkways, so he picked a shop that hadn't been touched yet and began shoveling. Once the town had been sufficiently cleared, Peeta debated heading back home, realizing how cold and hungry he felt. But he knew that more than likely the district officials hadn't even bothered with a cursory street clearing in the Seam, so he headed in that direction instead. As he had suspected, there had been little done to assist those in the Seam. There were some folks out already doing their best to clear a path out of their homes, and he nodded to them as he passed, his legs sinking deep into the snow.

He decided to start with Katniss' house, shoveling a path from the main road up to their front porch. He could see candles flickering from the windows, creating a soft luminescence inside. Lady wasn't in her pin, so they must have brought her inside. He was scraping off their front porch when he heard someone call his name. Glancing up, he saw Prim's pale face pressed against the screen of the living room window. He grinned, cringing slightly when the action stretched the welt on his face.

"Hi, Prim," he greeted, and she waved in excitement. "You all doing all right?"

"Yeah, we're okay," she said. "We got lots of cheese and milk from Lady. Thanks for clearing our walkway!"

"Don't worry about it. I'm making the rounds, so I'm happy to help," he said, but he heard a faint voice in the background, and Prim craned her neck around.

"It's Peeta!" she said, turning back to look at him.

As the voice got closer, he could tell it belonged to Katniss. "You're letting all the heat out, Little Duck," she said, bending down to look out the window beside Prim. When he saw her face, his heart throbbed sharply. He hadn't seen her in a couple weeks. "Hi, Peeta," she said softly.

"Hi, Katniss," he said just as delicately, trying to smile at her. She didn't smile back, but her eyes looked gracious.

"You don't have to do that," she started, but he just shook his head.

Prim piped up. "How's your wrist?" Peeta pulled his sleeve back to show her. The gash was red and scabby, but it was healing.

"Better, thanks to you," he said, and she beamed.

"You look cold," she continued. "Do you want to come in?"

Katniss looked surprised at her sister's invitation, and Peeta responded before she could. "Thanks, Prim, but I'm gonna try to clear some more houses before I head back home. I'll see you two later," he said, offering a wave before he turned around.

"Bye, Peeta!" Prim called, shutting the window. At the bottom of the steps, he stopped to look back. Katniss still lingered in the window, watching him. They locked eyes for a moment, and finally Katniss lifted her hand in a halfhearted wave. He just nodded and walked toward the next Seam house.

 

He'd helped clear out a few houses in the Seam before he had to call it quits. His extremities felt frozen. Seeing one kid he recognized from school, he passed along the shovel to him and told him to give it to whomever needed it. He doubted Haymitch would miss it. By the time he got home, his teeth were chattering, and he could barely feel his fingers or toes. Stripping off his wet, frigid clothes, he dropped them on the kitchen table and painfully climbed the stairs to the second floor. Once he was in the bathroom, he turned on the shower, setting the temperature to tepid, and peeled off his pants and underwear; he left his prosthetic on, not sure he could properly balance himself at the moment without it. As he stepped into the running water, he sighed in relief. It was going to take a while to warm up his body.

He stood under the showerhead, leaning against the wall as the lukewarm water cascaded down his head, his back, his limbs. When his fingers started to tingle, he gradually adjusted the temperature to hot; the water practically scalded him, but it felt good. He slumped against the wall, lifting his face into the stream.

Peeta stayed in the shower until the hot water ran out, then he shut it off. Stepping out of the tub, he grabbed a towel and dried off, scrubbing his hair with it before wrapping it around his waist. He limped into his bedroom and grabbed a pair of sweatpants. Dropping his towel, he slipped the pants on, then he ventured into the hallway, choking on a startled cry when he nearly collided with Katniss.

"Holy shit!" he gasped, leaning against the doorframe. "Fuck, you're quiet."

She looked apologetic. "Sorry," she said, holding up her hands to placate him. "I knocked for a while before I came in."

He rubbed the back of his hand over his brow. "I didn't hear. I was in the shower." She nodded, taking in his state of undress. He didn't miss the way her eyes lingered on his chest. "So what are you doing here? Can I do something for you?"

She seemed to flush in embarrassment, looking around the hallway. "Well, I hope you don't mind me just barging in. I just...I wanted to thank you for clearing off our walkway. And for clearing off the others' porches too," she said, fidgeting nervously. "You didn't have to do that."

Pursing his lips, he shrugged. "Well, I can be useful sometimes," he said sullenly, thinking of his mother.

"I know. Well, I just mean...it was nice of you to help."

"I wish I could have done more, but I was pretty much frozen solid by the time I made it home," he said blithely, smiling crookedly at her as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

She smiled slightly. "It was plenty." After a moment, she reached into her coat and dug out his scarf and gloves. "I wanted to return these, too. I meant to, the last time I was here, but, well..." He nodded, taking the items from her. "Thanks."

"You sure you don't want to keep them?"

"No, I couldn't."

He nodded slightly and tossed the scarf and gloves into his room. When he looked back at her, she was staring at him as if she was trying to think of something else to say. "How's Gale doing?" he asked conversationally, and she started.

"Oh, uh, better. He's still healing. The mines are shut down, anyway, so he couldn't work right now even if he were completely healed," she explained, and he made a noise of understanding. They stood awkwardly, not speaking for a moment, and Peeta wondered why he could never seem to make any progress with her. It was always one step forward and two giant leaps back.

"I guess I should go," she said haltingly.

He just nodded in resignation. "Okay," he said.

His agreement seemed to surprise her, and she stared at him, mildly astonished. Her reaction confused him; did she expect him to grovel? He couldn't beg her to stay all the time.

"Oh—kay," she said, unsure, and turned to leave. At the top of the stairs, she swiveled back to him. "They didn't deliver the supplies for Parcel Day."

His forehead creased in concern. "That's not good. Does your family need more food? I've got plenty to spare."

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head quickly. "No, I wasn't asking for a handout or anything," she said, absently tugging on her braid. "I just meant...well, I guess it was just bad timing and everything. For everybody. With the blizzard and all...You don't think—they'll still do the next Parcel Day, at least. Right?"

His raised his eyebrows as he thought. "I hope so. But...I don't know," he admitted, his voice laced with doubt now. With the new Head Peacekeeper and the crackdown on previously unpunished crimes, he wasn't sure what the Capitol would do next to penalize their district. Katniss' face fell at his words.

"Yeah. Well, with the blizzard and everything, I can't really get out," she said, emphasizing the last two words so he could understand her meaning. "So...I don't know when I'll be back around to trade with you."

He understood. But before she could descend the stairs, he called out her name, and she looked at him expectantly. "You don't have to make up an excuse every time you come to visit me," he said with a hint of a smirk, resting his head against the wall. Her mouth curled into a defensive scowl, but he continued before she could retort, "I could really use some company out here other than Haymitch. Don't get me wrong; he's entertaining enough, but I think he just keeps me around to clean up his vomit."

Her mouth quirked into a smile, and she dropped her gaze to the floor shyly. "Okay. I'll keep that in mind," she said, giving him one last look before she disappeared down the stairs.

Peeta stared after her for a while before he sighed, pushing off the wall. Speaking of Haymitch, he still needed to take him some food.

 

For the next few weeks, Peeta immersed himself in his mural of the 74th Hunger Games. The trains had started running again, so he was able to order more paints when he ran out; he'd also called Effie and had her send him photos of all the tributes from his games. He could vividly remember a handful of them, but it was the tributes that had died in the bloodbath, the ones he hadn't gotten to know, he had trouble recalling details about. He was trying to remember just what color red Carmine's hair looked like in the sun when he heard someone running up his stairs.

And just like that, he was back in the games, Cato and the mutts hounding after him. He froze in fear, fisting the brush in a defensive position as he braced himself for an attack, but then he heard his name. "Peeta!"

Katniss. His body relaxed, blood rushing through his ears, and he called out to her just as she flew by his studio. She whirled around and threw herself through the doorway, pulling up short. Her face looked panicked. "What's wrong?" he asked, his mind immediately flashing to Prim and a laundry list of horrible things that could have happened to her.

"The fence," she started, her voice trembling. "The electricity's on. I can't—the fence is on."

His heart dropped. "Shit." He dropped his brush to the floor and ran a hand through his hair. "How long?"

"All week! Gale and I tried to go out last Sunday when we first noticed it was on. Sometimes it happens, though, so we didn't think much of it. But I just checked it again, and it's still on! It's never on this long!" Katniss tugged on the sleeves of her coat, distraught. "Why does he keep punishing us? I thought we'd done enough." She meant Snow. Peeta wanted to remind her that he'd barely seen her in the past few weeks, but he didn't want to force her to spend time with him. There was only so much he could do. "What do we do?" she asked desperately.

He looked around the room hopelessly. This particular punishment didn't affect him personally, but he knew hunting was her livelihood; if she couldn't hunt, she couldn't feed her family as much or trade in the market for other essential items. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I can help you with food, bake extras for your family, and if you need money—"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Her face contorted in anger. "I'm not asking for your charity, Peeta!"

He closed his eyes and waited a moment before he responded. "I'm not offering you charity, Katniss. I'm just trying to help you," he said slowly, knowing he was walking on a field of mines.

"Is there a difference?" she snapped, cocking her hip. "Why is your solution always to just give people handouts? How does that ever really help anyone if they have to depend on you?"

He stared at her, aghast. "I don't—I don't know how else to help you, or anyone. You asked me what we should do, and I'm just trying to help your family the best way I can."

"I don't need you to take care of my family; I can do it myself!" she yelled, her cheeks flushing in frustration. "I was asking you what we do about Snow! I thought if we did what he said, we'd be fine! He didn't say he was going to—to send new peacekeepers to beat us and strip us of the only way we can feed ourselves!"

His own face burning with suppressed rage, he held his hands up defenselessly. "What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do, Katniss? Do you want me to go to the Capitol and throw myself at Snow's feet and ask him to kill me or-or sell my body to every sick, perverted fuck in the city who wants to rape me? 'Cause I told you I would! But I don't know that it'll do you or anyone else here any good!" he exploded, and she shrank back, her eyes still simmering.

She sneered at him. "Just forget it! Forget I said anything. Forget I even came here. I've gotta go figure out how to feed my little sister so we don't starve again." She darted out of view, stomping down the stairs. Peeta glowered at a can of green paint on the ground. With a grunt, he kicked it, hard, splattering paint across the hardwood floor.

 

He sat on his couch, a glass of vodka clutched in his hand. The TV he never watched was on now, some Capitol news program blaring incessantly, but he tuned it out as he watched the ice cubes swirl around his cup. There was a mandatory viewing tonight for the reading of the card for the next games, the Quarter Quell. Where he was going to have to be a mentor. Where he was going to have to likely sentence two kids he probably knew to death.

He took a hard swallow of his bourbon. Watching the TV screen, he zoned out as a garish-looking Caesar grilled a gamemaker on details about the next games, but when the president's smarmy face finally appeared, his stomach clenched in dread, and he sat up straighter.

Just looking into Snow's cold eyes, Peeta could feel perspiration beading on his scalp. He licked his dry lips and turned up the volume.

"...fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes. And now we honor our third Quarter Quell," Snow paused as an assistant presented him with a box full of envelopes. Snow selected one labeled "75" and carefully opened it, pulling out the card inside. Then he continued, "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

Peeta stared at the screen, pinned to the couch by Snow's stare as if he were actually watching him. The president's words bounced around his skull: _"The male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pools of victors."_ Calmly, ever so calmly, he tipped his glass to his lips and drained the rest of his vodka. Once he had swallowed the last drop, he pulled the cup away and stared unseeingly at the TV.

Then he laughed. It started as a quiet chuckle that stopped as soon as it began. But then he laughed again until the sound echoed through his living room, mocking him. Suddenly, his hand snapped back, and the glass was hurtling through the air, shattering against the TV. The next second, Peeta was on his feet and out his door, crossing the distance to Haymitch's house in long, easy strides. He didn't bother to knock, throwing the door open. He found Haymitch in the kitchen, pouring a drink. He had two glasses on the table, as if he were expecting Peeta.

"Ah, see the announcement, did you?" he asked drily, smirking as he poured some liquor in the second glass and handed it to Peeta. "Come to commiserate?"

Peeta snatched the glass up and downed it before he responded. "This can't happen, right? Once you win, you're supposed to be safe," he gasped as the liquor burned his throat.

Haymitch barked out a humorless laugh, knocking back his own drink. "Well, you tell me, kid. Since you've won, have you felt safe?"

He shook his head. If anything, since he'd returned, he'd never felt closer to the precipice of death. He kicked out a chair and slumped down into it. "Well, that's it then. It's going to be me, isn't it?" he asked hollowly, and Haymitch poured him another drink, sitting in a chair opposite him.

"Don't count yourself out yet, kid," Haymitch said, sipping from his glass. "Could just as easily be me."

Peeta shook his head again, staring at his glass. "But I'm the one who's been causing all the trouble lately. I'm the problem. Snow changed the rules of the games to target me, didn't he?"

Shrugging, Haymitch finished his drink. "He hasn't exactly been one of my biggest fans either."

Looking at the older man critically, Peeta thought about the boxes in his basement. "Are you ever going to tell me what happened to your family? What did Snow do to you after you won your games?"

Haymitch grunted, pouring another drink. "That story might be a little too depressing for tonight," he grumbled.

"I saw the boxes in your basement." The cup froze halfway to Haymitch's mouth at Peeta's words. "Madge told me her aunt, Maysilee, was in the second Quarter Quell with you."

His expression soured, and he took a gulp of his drink then slammed his glass on the table, liquor sloshing over the sides. Peeta sipped his own drink, waiting for Haymitch to speak.

"Maysilee..." He stared at the puddle of bourbon on the table. "She helped me in the games," he said finally. "We were allies, stuck together for a while. But I got stuck on this idea that, if we walked far enough, we could find the end of the arena, and maybe we could escape. But it just ended in a cliff. We finally decided to split up, so it wouldn't come down to just us. I stayed at the cliff, threw a rock—and it bounced back. I realized there was a force field there, to prevent anyone from escaping or trying to kill themselves. But at that moment, I heard May scream. She was dying by the time I reached her, skewered through the neck by some birds."

Haymitch paused to take swig of his bourbon. "Anyway, it came down to me and the girl from District 1—can't even remember her name anymore...I led her to the cliff I had found, trying to hold in my intestines that she'd nearly ripped out, and just when she threw her axe, I dropped to the ground. The axe went over the side of the cliff, hit the force field and flew back, lodging into her head and killing her. That's how I won."

Peeta blinked. "So...you outsmarted even the gamemakers. Used the arena in a way they never intended. And they didn't like that."

Haymitch made a sound in the back of his throat, swirling the liquor in his glass. "Two weeks after I got back home, they rounded up my ma, my little brother—Tristan—and my girl, took them into the backyard and shot them. And they made me watch. As a lesson to me and the district. There was nothing I could do."

Horror burned in Peeta's chest, and he stared at his mentor, speechless. "Jesus, Haymitch...I..."

Haymitch knocked back the rest of his bourbon, smacking his lips when he finished. "I've been trying to kill myself with drink ever since." He looked at Peeta with a nasty smirk. "I told you, didn't I? Snow has many different ways to make you suffer."

He poured himself another drink and topped off Peeta's even though he hadn't finished his. "So he was just playing with me this whole time. Torture me with threats of prostitution, dangle Katniss over my head while threatening to pimp out both her and Prim, make me squirm with fear and dread every day while I try to meet the demands of whatever charade he wants me to perform, but all the while, still plan to kill me on national television," Peeta bit out angrily.

"And you're surprised?" Haymitch asked cynically, sitting back in his chair. "But, hey, it might not even be you. Maybe this year they're looking for some more entertainment. What could be more amusing than an old drunk slob pissing himself while trying to fight a tree?" He cracked a self-deprecating smile.

Peeta knew his mentor was just trying to make him feel better, and he smiled darkly but shook his head. "I wouldn't let that happen, Haymitch. I couldn't. You know that. Snow must know that, too."

Haymitch narrowed his eyes at him. "Don't go gettin' any bright ideas, boy. You're not volunteering for me."

"I'm younger than you, Haymitch," Peeta explained calmly. "I'm in better shape. I'm more sober—at least more often than you. I don't think my liver's about to crap out on me, anyway, which is more than you can say. And I don't know the first thing about mentoring. That's your job." Besides that, he cared for the old man, maybe despite Haymitch's best efforts; he owed him his life for getting him through the first games. This rule change was Snow clearly targeting Peeta; he wouldn't let Haymitch take the fall.

The older man curled his lip in a sneer. "Don't insult me, kid. You might be able to bench press me, but I've still got the reflexes of a cat."

Laughing sharply, Peeta chugged his drink. "What kind of cat are we talking about here?" he asked around an ice cube, crunching it between his teeth. "I see a lot of mangy, half-blind cats around town chasing their own tails that could give you a run for your money."

Growling, Haymitch took a clumsy swing at the boy, which Peeta easily blocked, splashing some of his bourbon down his shirt. But he just laughed again. "I haven't seen you land a hit yet, old man."

"You wanna take this outside, boy? I bet I could take you," Haymitch grumbled, but he slumped back in his chair, resting his drink on his stomach.

"You'd have to stop seeing two of me first," Peeta retorted, pouring his own drink this time. He knew he was buzzed; his face felt warm, his head felt kind of muddled, and his words were sounding slightly slurred. But he figured he'd earned it. "Come on, Haymitch, you know I'd do better in the arena than you. It should be me."

"With that leg?" he asked bitingly, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "Stop it. This whole 'martyr' bullshit you do, knock it off. I don't know who got it into your head that you're not worth a lick, but it just ain't true."

Peeta looked at him in surprise, swallowing thickly. Haymitch was rarely, if ever, complimentary; nice words just weren't in his vocabulary. "It's for the best this way. Snow wants me gone, anyway," he said quietly, swallowing some more bourbon.

"So that's it? You're just gonna roll over?" Haymitch asked, disgusted.

"No! No," he asserted defiantly, his grip tightening on his glass. "I'm not going down without a fight, no." He thought about it, his mind already churning. "We should train like Careers, Haymitch." Haymitch snorted, but Peeta forged ahead with his idea, "We got a few months. We can bulk up, run, lift weights, practice with weapons. If we know one of us is going back in, why shouldn't we prepare this time?"

"You know, it could be both of us," Haymitch mused. "We don't have any surviving female victors."

Confused, Peeta furrowed his brow. "What do you think they'll do?"

"I don't know. Guess they could do any number of things. I'm guessing they'll just send the two of us."

Peeta thought about it then raised his glass. "Well, then we'll be ready for it." Haymitch clinked his cup to Peeta's, and they both took a swig.

They were silent for a moment, and Peeta kicked the chair leg with his heel. "At least this way, Katniss won't be stuck with me," he deliberated quietly. "She won't have to continue this farce of a love story. And then maybe her family will be safe."

Haymitch looked at him harshly, shaking his head. "She doesn't deserve you, kid. You're too good for her."

Peeta smiled grimly at his mentor, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You seriously overestimate me, Haymitch. I've killed innocent people, haven't I?"

Haymitch sighed, reaching over to tip Peeta's glass up to his mouth. "Shut up and drink. I'm trying to have my own pity party here, too; I can't spend all night trying to make you feel better." Peeta readily obliged.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a little mix-up in the chapters I posted. I uploaded but apparently never actually POSTED Chapter 6. My bad. It's there now, if you'd like to go back and read it.

**viii. You can't choose what stays and what fades away**

Chewing her lip, Katniss watched the hands of the clock above Peeta's fireplace. She'd been at his house for hours, waiting for him to return from wherever he'd run off to, but he still wasn't back yet. When she'd heard the president's announcement about the quarter quell, she was running out her front door before she could even think, not even remembering to put on a jacket. But she had hardly felt the cold as her feet pounded the ground, carrying her to the Victor's Village. She could only think about getting to Peeta.

But he wasn't at his house. The door had been unlocked, but she couldn't find him in any room. The TV was still on, streaked with a clear liquid that pooled on the floor below it among broken shards of glass. At first she'd thought maybe he was at the bakery; she decided to wait for him to return, but when she answered a knock on the door, it was Peeta's father and Rye, looking for him. She didn't know what to tell them, and, clearly upset, the baker asked her to tell Peeta to stop by the bakery once he returned.

Delly Cartwright and her younger brother, Mac, even swung by at one point. Katniss didn't know how to comfort a sobbing Delly and repeated what she had told Peeta's father: No, she didn't know where he was, but she'd tell him they were looking for him.

Hours passed with her curled up on his couch with her knees under her chin, obsessively watching the clock. He must have been at Haymitch's; that was the only thing that made sense. She debated going over there, but she felt like it wasn't her place to intrude. As victors, this was something only they understood, a pain and reality they shared. So she waited, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

Her eyes were struggling to stay open when the front door swung open. In a heartbeat she was on her feet, whirling toward the door, as Peeta stumbled into the foyer, tripping on the rug and cursing quietly. But he seemed to sense her immediately, his head shooting up to stare at her, wide-eyed.

"What're you doin' here?" he asked, squinting, and she could tell he was drunk. He shut the door behind him, and she came closer, wringing her hands nervously.

"I was watching the reading of the card," she said. "I came as soon as I heard."

"Why?" he asked, frowning. She knew she deserved his hostility, but it still stung.

"Because I'm scared for you," she said honestly. "Where have you been? Your family came by looking for you. So did Delly and her brother."

He laughed darkly, teetering on one leg as he toed of his boot with his foot; he repeated the action with his other boot, bracing himself against the wall. "Well, me and the other remaining District 12 victors—all two of us—got together to discuss our odds for this year's games. Don't worry; I think my chances are pretty good. I've only got a 50/50 shot!" He burst out laughing again, moving toward the stairs, and she followed him.

"Peeta—"

He spun around on the bottom step, grabbing the bannister to steady himself. "You should go home, Katniss. I'm goin' to bed," he said flatly, turning around and climbing the stairs before she could respond.

Hesitantly, she hung back, watching him ascend the steps. But she gritted her teeth and chased after him, following him into his bedroom. "I've been here all night, so I'm not leaving until we talk," she said, and he sighed in defeat.

"I don't wanna fight with you right now, Katniss," he said, his voice raw, and he started peeling off his sweater and his undershirt. "I can't do it anymore."

She regarded him sadly. "I didn't come here to fight with you, Peeta. I—I'm sorry about how I reacted the last time we spoke."

He sat down on the edge of his bed, hard, looking at her with bloodshot eyes. "Then what do you want to talk about?" he asked hoarsely.

Suddenly, she felt too exposed under his stare, and she faltered. She'd reacted before she could think, knowing only that she needed to see Peeta, needed to be near him. "I...don't want you to go back," she said plainly, sounding almost petulant.

He smiled wryly. "Me neither, but I don't really get a choice, sweetheart." Her nostrils flared at the endearment Haymitch often used, but she moved closer, playing with the end of her braid.

"It might not be you," she said, trying to convince herself.

With another sigh, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and clasping his hands together. "It's gonna be me. You know it is. I know it is. I've accepted it."

She knew it. But hearing him say it out loud, her heart constricted painfully. She gave a shuddering breath, and before she could second-guess herself, she climbed onto his bed and wrapped herself around his back. He froze at her touch, but then he slumped forward, dropping his head to fist his hands in his hair. With another shaky breath, she pressed her cheek to his back, closing her eyes. His skin was hot, red splotches freckling his neck from the alcohol. Feeling his back rising against her chest with his labored breaths, something in her broke. "You can't, you can't," she gasped, her hands clawing at his chest and stomach. "He can't do this. It's not fair. I can't—I can't lose you now," she choked out, squeezing her eyes shut against the threat of tears.

Peeta rubbed his palms over his face. "It's better this way, Katniss," he said, his voice muffled by his hands. "Snow wants to get rid of me. If I'm outta the picture, you should be safe. There'd be no reason to target you or your family anymore."

Somehow, she doubted that. She didn't trust Snow to back off on his crackdown on Twelve. She squeezed his chest tighter. "I'm more worried about you, Peeta. You just won your games. You just came back. We just—just started..." She didn't know how to finish that sentence, so she buried her nose against his shoulder, inhaling his scent deeply. There was a cloud of liquor around him, but his skin itself smelled like sweat and soap and cinnamon and dill. Did he always smell like this? Did he smell like this in the cabin? She couldn't recall, but now she wished she had taken the time to notice these things about him then. How he smelled, how warm, how smooth his skin felt under her hands. Why had she been so hell-bent on pushing him away since that day? Everything was so complicated, with Snow's demands, with the new peacekeepers and their rules, with Gale getting whipped. And she blamed Peeta for it all, unfairly, but she'd felt so helpless and lost; she wanted to take out her impotency on a target she could actually reach.

They didn't speak for a moment until Peeta finally lifted his head, angling his face slightly to direct his next words to her. "At least I did something right," he mused, bitter amusement lacing his voice. "I told you I'd do what I could to help you protect your sister. And, look, I've kept her out of the reaping this year." He started to laugh, but he choked on the sound, immediately convulsing with sobs, and he buried his face in his hands. Katniss pulled back, startled by his outburst, but then she gathered him closer, stroking his back, his arm, his hair, whatever she could reach.

"Shh, Peeta," she shushed him, repeating his name like a mantra, trying to soothe him. He just cried harder, and she coaxed him into lying down beside her. He curled up against her, pressing his face to her neck, and she tried to wrap as much of herself around him as she could. Her own eyes watered, tears slipping down her cheeks, but she muffled her gasps against the top of his head.

She wasn't sure how long they lay like that, but he eventually cried himself to sleep; his sobs quieted, and all she could hear were his even, shallow breaths. She closed her own eyes, still holding him close. There was no way she was going to leave him now, so she decided to get some sleep, too.

 

It was the bed shifting and the sudden loss of warmth that dragged Katniss from her slumber; she fought it desperately, trying to cling to the delicious repose she'd wrapped herself in. But the sound of someone retching chased away the last remnants of her dreams, and she opened her eyes with some difficulty. She heard the sound again, and she sat up quickly, Prim's name sticking in her throat when her surroundings finally registered in her brain. She wasn't at home; she was in Peeta's bedroom.

And he was puking in his bathroom.

She winced at the sounds, her own stomach roiling. She wasn't good with sick people; Prim and their mother would handle this situation without even batting an eye. She debated lying back down and blocking the sounds out with a pillow, but he sounded so pitiful. Sighing, she rubbed the grit out of her eyes and climbed out of his bed, tentatively walking toward the bathroom. Peeta was on the floor, slumped over the toilet.

"Peeta?" she asked. "You okay?"

He groaned in response, lifting his head slightly. "I feel like death." He flushed the toilet, and she smiled despite herself. Finding a washcloth, she ran it under some cold water in the sink then wrung it out. Carefully approaching him, she placed the washcloth on the back of his neck. He mumbled a quiet thanks.

Perching on the edge of the bathtub, she looked at him quietly. After a moment, he finally looked at her. His face was pale and clammy, his eyes puffy from crying the night before. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'm sorry about last night...and how I acted."

Katniss pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well, I can't say I wouldn't have done the same in your situation," she said. "I know I have no right to judge, but if I'm being honest…I wish you wouldn't drink like that. I think one town drunk is enough," she tried to joke lightly, but Peeta sighed, pushing away from the toilet and leaning against the wall. He pulled the washcloth off his neck and wiped it over his face.

"I'm not going to. I plan to quit," he said, his voice gravelly, but his tone was resolute. "I'm going to prepare myself for the games. Haymitch and I are going to train like Careers."

At the mention of the games, Katniss' face fell, and she dropped her head to stare at her bare feet. She curled her toes into the bath mat. "That's good," she said, her voice cracking slightly. She took a deep breath. "You've won once; you can win again."

He looked at her strangely. "Katniss...you know that's not going to happen. I mean, even if I could...Snow wouldn't allow it," he said quietly, and she swallowed the lump in her throat.

"You're going to try though, right?" she asked, still staring at her toes.

"Yeah, I'll try," he whispered. She closed her eyes, biting her lip to fight the tears, biting down so hard she could taste blood. He stood up slowly, sliding along the wall, then he crossed to the sink and turned the faucet on. Cupping some water in his hand, he drank it, swished it around his mouth and spit it out. She waited while he brushed his teeth, trying to wrangle in her emotions. "Do you want some breakfast?" he asked when he was finished, and she nodded, standing up.

They went downstairs to the kitchen, and Peeta warmed up some blueberry muffins in the oven. They sat at the table silently; she eagerly scarfed down a couple muffins while he ate slowly, picking at the blueberries.

"Do you need to get home?" he asked after a while, and she glanced at the clock. It was only a little after 7, and it was a Saturday. Her mother might be wondering when she was coming home, but she and Prim were with her when she heard Snow's announcement; they must know where she was.

"Not yet. I'm going to stay with you a little longer, if that's okay," she said softly, staring at her muffin a little too intently. She wasn't ready to leave him yet.

"Sure," he said just as quietly. He cleared his throat again. "How are you and your family holding up?"

"Okay, I guess. We're able to trade for some things with Prim's cheese and Lady's milk, but not much. My mother gets some money through her healing services. But, well...it's not as bad as it was before, at least," she said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. She hated this, feeling so useless and helpless. She was just dead weight on her family right now, unable to do anything to help provide for them.

"Well, I have a proposition for you," he said, sitting up straighter. "I know you don't want my help, but...I could really use yours. Help Haymitch and me train. Teach us what you know about hunting, foraging, making snares, and I can pay you back with food and money—whatever you ask for."

She stared at him in surprise. The offer was tempting; she could put her currently languishing hunting abilities to use, help Peeta without feeling guilty about taking his handouts. And maybe she could pass along some kind of skill or knowledge that helped him in the games—or possibly even saved him.

"Yes, of course, I'll help you," she said firmly then quickly added, "I would do it without the trade off, just so you know...but if you slip in some cheese buns, I wouldn't turn them down." And she punctuated her words with a small smile. He grinned, his face lighting up for the first time all morning. The sight made her heart palpitate, and, almost reflexively, she reached across the table and grabbed his hand. With a gentle squeeze, she pulled his hand toward her, stretching his arm out, and she rested her forehead on his knuckles. His hand spasmed underneath her, as if he were surprised by her action; she was, too. But then his fingers skimmed her cheek, and he was caressing her face; she felt herself leaning into his touch, warmth spreading through her from his fingertips. After a moment, she looked up at him through her eyelashes. He was staring at her with such tenderness, such awe, and she knew she should tell him something, something more, how he made her feel, how it scared her but how she craved the feeling. How she thought about him every day. How there was no one else quite like him, no one in this whole godforsaken world. But she was never good with words, and her tongue failed her. She just hoped he could see it all conveyed in her eyes, in that one look.

Feeling as if she had indulged herself long enough in their brief physical contact, she pulled away and leaned back in her chair. She missed his touch already. "So. When do we start?" Peeta smiled in gratitude.


	9. Chapter 9

**ix. I want to see you as you are now**

Their training started right away. True to his word, Peeta stopped drinking cold turkey. It was hard at first, but not as hard as he thought it would be. Between the new exercise regimen and his time spent with Katniss, he had plenty to distract himself from his pain and the memories of the games; nothing stopped the nightmares, but during those hours at night when he couldn't sleep, he just worked some more on his mural.

Haymitch was a different story. He had also agreed to stop drinking at Peeta's behest, but he'd consented in a moment when he was already drunk and far removed from the harsh reality of quitting an addiction 25 years in the making. And the withdrawals were not a kind mistress. Often, Peeta found his mentor curled on the floor, shaking and sweating in a pile of his own vomit, screaming hateful obscenities at him. Once, when he walked into Haymitch's house to discover the older man had succumbed to the craving, apparently already on his fifth drink of the morning, Peeta had to wrestle him to the floor and rip the liquor bottle from his hand, barely avoiding being stabbed by Haymitch's switchblade. Instead, he received a nasty gash on his arm, and he had to knock Haymitch out cold. Before his mentor could come to, he'd gone through his house and dumped all his liquor down the drain.

Haymitch had been furious, said he could buy more anyway, but Peeta told him he'd just tell Ripper to stop selling to him, otherwise he'd turn her over to Thread. For a while after that, Haymitch had been irritable and mean, but, really, Peeta was sure that was just how Haymitch was, sober or drunk. Eventually, the older man got better and was even able to throw himself into the rigorous training alongside Peeta.

They ran loops around the district to increase their endurance and stamina. Even in his poor state, Haymitch proved to be a faster runner than Peeta, though he always got winded quicker. Peeta found the repetitive action of running tough on his bad leg, and afterwards he often retreated to his house to soak the stump of his knee in a hot bath. But he could still lift weights with the best of them; he and Haymitch hauled flour bags back and forth to town from the Victor's Village. He even showed Haymitch some wrestling moves, enlisting Rye's help to hold matches between the two victors in their front yards; Peeta always won. Haymitch, it turned out, when he wasn't drunk, was a whiz with that switchblade of his, and when his hands weren't shaking, he could hit almost every target as he taught Peeta how to throw knives.

They watched videos of past games, which Effie had mailed to them from the Capitol. Haymitch informed Peeta on everything he knew about the surviving victors, and Peeta took notes, determined to learn everyone's strength and weaknesses so he could use that knowledge to his advantage in the arena.

Katniss still had school, but she helped them on the weekends and even some nights during the week. Her bow was lost to her in the woods behind the electrified fence, but she had managed to construct a new one from materials found around town, based on what she remembered from her father's teaching. She wasn't happy with it, but she said it would suffice for training. She taught them how to climb trees; she also brought around a book her father had started before he'd died, a book of plants. He and Haymitch pored over it, trying to absorb the abundance of information on edible and poisonous plants.

Probably most surprising, however, was that she had convinced Gale to help teach them about making snares. Peeta had offered to bake him some food as well, or at least pay him, but Gale had rejected the proposal.

"I owe you, Mellark, for the whipping. So let's just call it even," he'd said gruffly. Apparently, he was just as prideful and stubborn as Katniss was. Peeta struggled with the snares, but Gale was surprisingly patient and helpful. Peeta felt terrible that his actions had indirectly affected Gale and his family; Katniss wasn't the only one hurt by the inability to hunt. While Gale made money working in the mines, he still had five mouths to feed. His younger brother, Rory, had to take out tesserae, Katniss had told him, which so deeply upset Gale, he couldn't even talk about it.

The guilt Peeta felt was suffocating.

Katniss had made one suggestion to Peeta about how he could help Gale; after she'd seen the conditions of Haymitch's house, she had asked Peeta if he could talk to Haymitch about hiring Hazelle as a housecleaner. Since Gale's whipping, people were hesitant to give their washing to her, so she had lost some business. Peeta readily agreed, and though Haymitch initially snubbed the idea of a housecleaner, when Peeta played on his innate Seam penchant for paying back debts, Haymitch finally conceded, taking Hazelle on as thanks for Gale's assistance in their training.

The Capitol's stranglehold on District 12 had gotten tighter over the next few months; all the Peacekeepers had been replaced, the Hob had been torched to the ground (though most of the vendors managed to rebuild or find a way to trade their goods), and shipments via the trains were sporadic. The food delivered on Parcel Day every month was often spoiled or didn't show up at all. Because weapons were not allowed in Twelve, they had to do a lot of their training behind their houses in Victor's Village. Luckily, the Peacekeepers rarely came around that area.

One warm Saturday, Katniss rounded Peeta and Haymitch up to train them on her bow. They gathered behind Peeta's house, and she set up a hastily made bullseye on the back of his house. Her makeshift bow was sturdy enough, but Peeta and Haymitch were terrible archers. They were horrible shots, and not even Haymitch's accuracy with a knife could translate to the arrows. After his sixth failed attempt at shooting the bullseye—his arrow missing by a good five feet and bouncing off a window—he cursed and threw the bow at the house.

Peeta doubled over, laughing hysterically. Katniss at least tried to choke back her laughs, stifling the sound with her hands, but Haymitch glared at both of them.

"Fuck you, baker boy," he growled. "I don't see you doing any better. You nearly took my eye out with your last shot."

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Peeta shook his head, gasping for air. "I know I'm terrible. But you're taking it so seriously, it's hilarious watching you lose your shit." Katniss picked up her bow and went to retrieve the arrow.

"Yeah, fuck you again," Haymitch snapped. "If I had my switchblade on me right now, you'd take me serious, too." His threat only made Peeta laugh harder. Haymitch threw his hands up in exasperation. "That's it. Fuck it. I don't need to know how to use a bow. I think a knife will work just fine in the arena." With that, he stomped off, muttering obscenities.

Grinning, Katniss walked back to where Peeta stood and held the bow and arrow out to him. "Let's see how you do this time, baker boy," she teased as he grabbed the weapon.

"If only they allowed piping bags as a weapons in the arena," he said with a dramatic sigh. It was a morbid statement, but Katniss had gotten used to his jokes. If they could laugh about it, the prospect of Peeta getting reaped again seemed less scary, somehow.

"You never know; maybe this year the arena will be a giant cake," she mused, raising an eyebrow, and he chuckled. "Okay, let's get serious. Show me what you got, Mellark." She moved behind him to turn him sideways. "Remember, feet shoulder-width apart." He planted his feet as she instructed. "Curl your left hand around the bow as I showed you. Now, nock the arrow with your right hand. When you draw the string back, bring your hand back to your jaw. The string should touch your nose," she explained matter-of-factly while he assumed the position. She was flush against his back as she checked his line of sight, adjusting his fingers on the bow. It was hard for him to concentrate on the target when he could feel her breasts pressed against him, and he tried to slow his quickening breath. Seeming satisfied with his stance, she took a step back. "Okay, when you're ready, just release the arrow."

Squinting at the target, he took a deep breath—then released the string. The arrow shot through the air, notching into the side of the house a foot to the left of the bullseye. He pursed his lips in disappointment, dropping his arms and looking over his shoulder at Katniss. "At least I got the arrow to stick this time."

She smiled. "It's better. I think you're dropping your bow arm too soon though, which might be decreasing your accuracy," she said, circling around him to his front. She lifted his arms again and repositioned them as if he were about to release the string. "When you let the arrow go, keep your bow arm locked in place until after the arrow has hit its target," she said as she made his fingers release the string, holding his other arm out straight to demonstrate.

But he had stopped paying attention to her lesson, distracted by the way her hair caught the sunlight and the smattering of very light freckles on the bridge of her nose. She must have asked him a question because she suddenly looked up at him, as if expecting an answer. He shook his head slightly, smiling. "I'm sorry. I'm a terrible student. I'm too distracted by you to properly pay attention."

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed a rosier color. "Maybe the problem is I'm not being a stern enough teacher. Should I flick a switch over your hands every time you miss the target?" she asked rhetorically, moving away to retrieve the arrow. He flinched, thinking of his mother and her own personal form of motivation with a wooden spoon whenever he would mess up frosting. Peeta cleared his throat, following her closer to the house.

"I might be more motivated with the promise of a reward instead of punishment," he suggested nonchalantly as she pried the arrow from where it had lodged itself. When she turned around to face him, she cocked an eyebrow. "How about a kiss every time I hit the target?" he asked with a sly grin.

Caught off guard, Katniss blinked in surprise, but her lips twitched into a smile that she tried to stifle. "But then you'd never get a kiss," she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest.

He pretended to consider her words. "You're probably right. So how 'bout we just skip to the kiss?" he asked huskily, backing her up against the house. She stared at him as he leaned his face closer to hers, his lips hovering just over her own. Searching her eyes, he found the permission he was looking for, and he eagerly met her open mouth, pressing his body to hers. She untangled her arms from between their chests, accidentally poking him with the arrow, and he jerked back. "Ow."

Her eyes widened. "Sorry!" Peeta just laughed while she tossed the arrow to the ground.

"S'okay. What's pleasure without a little bit of pain?" he murmured before he captured her lips with his again, and she latched onto his neck, drawing him closer. He bit down on her lip gently to emphasize his point, immediately laving the tender skin with his tongue. She inhaled harshly, and he swept his tongue into her mouth, encircling her waist with his arms and splaying his hands over her back. She kissed him hungrily, exploring his mouth with her tongue, and he groaned in appreciation.

This was their first kiss since the cabin, but they had been building up to this moment. Katniss had been infinitely more affectionate toward him since the Quarter Quell announcement, at least by her standards, readily humoring his company and offering him hugs and lingering touches. Yet, there had still been a distance between them, one born of a natural hesitancy on her part and a renewed focus on survival on his. It seemed that, faced with the likely possibility of his death (for the second time), she was determined to show him more warmth and tenderness, and he reveled in it. Every touch, every smile, every soft look made his entire body ache with a sharp need, and he longed to make her feel the same.

He flattened her against the house, trapping her with his body. Sucking her bottom lip into his mouth, he slid his leg between hers, pressing his thigh to the juncture at her own, and she gasped, her eyes flying open to gaze into his. They fluttered closed again when he pressed against her center harder, shifting his leg. Resting her head on the wall, she moaned; her hips began to rock against his thigh, and he smirked to himself, moving his mouth to the smooth expanse of her neck. While he sucked on her skin, she ran her hands through his hair, curling her fingers around the short tresses.

When he slid his hands around to the front of her pants, she looked at him in alarm as he started to undo the button, grabbing his shoulders. "Peeta…we shouldn't—out here...What if Haymitch comes back?" she asked urgently, glancing to the side to check for the older man.

"He won't come back. He's embarrassed. He's probably taking a nap," he murmured, nuzzling her cheek with his nose. But he stilled his hands obediently. "If you want me to stop, I will."

She stared at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly; her eyes were deep gray pools of want, and his erection strained painfully against the front of his pants in response. Tightening her grasp on his shoulders, she shook her head. "No, I don't want you to stop," she whispered, and he kissed her wetly, his hands moving quickly to unfasten her pants. He slipped his hand inside, sliding past the waistband of her panties, and his fingers brushed through the soft curls there, gliding between the dampness that pooled between her legs. She gasped into his mouth, jerking against him at the contact and melting into him the next second as he rubbed his fingers back and forth along her folds, spreading the wetness around. He groaned deeply, pushing his tongue into her mouth; she was so warm, so wet.

"Peeta," she moaned as she broke the kiss, her head dropping back as her hands fisted in his shirt. Her hips rocked with the movement of his hand. With his other hand, he wiggled her pants down a little bit to give his right hand more room to move, and he reached between her thighs farther, slowly pushing a finger into her. Her mouth fell open in a soundless cry as he pumped his finger in and out. Carefully, he added a second finger, keeping his ministrations steady, and a low groan rumbled through her chest. He marveled at her reactions, loving how hot she felt around his fingers, and he greedily licked at the exposed flesh of her neck. His free hand grabbed her breast through her shirt, massaging the soft mound and eliciting another moan from her; he could feel her pebbled nipple through the thin material of her bra.

Pulling his fingers out of her, he sought the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. When he brushed over it, she gasped again, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he concentrated his efforts there, rubbing her clit rhythmically until she cried out, shuddering against him. Katniss dropped her head to his shoulder, burying her face against his neck with a quiet moan, and when she stopped trembling, he pulled his hand out of her pants and dutifully buttoned her back up. He lifted her face up and kissed her softly, and she looked up at him hazily. Smiling, he slipped his fingers into his mouth, sucking the taste of her off of them, and she blushed, swiping strands of hair out of her face. Her skin was flushed a lovely pink, and he cupped her cheek.

"If you let me do that every time I hit the bullseye, I think I'd have 100 percent shooting accuracy," he said with a short laugh, and she smiled widely, dipping her chin down. He realized she was staring at his crotch, and, self-conscious, he tried to adjust himself. He was going to have to take care of that, preferably sooner than later.

"Um," she started hesitantly, finally looking back up. "Do you—would you like me to do something? With that?" She gestured vaguely to his hard-on, and he would have laughed at her bluntness if the suggestion didn't utterly turn him on.

"If you're offering, I wouldn't object," he said cautiously, licking his lips. "But you certainly don't have to do anything."

Katniss tugged at the end of her braid, dropping her gaze again. "I would like to try."

"Okay," he murmured. She waffled for a moment before she hooked her fingers in his belt loops to draw him closer, and he ran his hands up and down her arms to reassure her. Slowly, she undid the button and tugged the zipper down, parting the fly of his pants. The relief was immediate for him, and he sighed. She lingered a moment longer, her eyes locked on the bulge in his boxers.

"Okay, here goes," she said with a nervous, airy laugh then plunged her hand into his shorts, her fingers brushing against his cock, and he hissed, closing his eyes. Almost instinctively, her hand closed around him, and he thought he might come just with that simple touch. Peeta braced himself against the side of the house, his palms flat against the wall on either side of her head. "Is this fine?" she asked, and he nodded.

"God, yes, just...up and down," he gasped, cracking his eyelids to look at her. "A little harder if you can." She obeyed, and he moaned as she tugged on his flesh eagerly. The sensations were too much for him to keep his eyes open, though he so badly wanted to watch her face; he leaned his forehead on her shoulder, his hips bucking against her hand, and he groaned deep in his throat when her lips opened over his neck, her tongue sliding along his skin. When her teeth scraped his collar bone, he whimpered. He knew he wasn't going to last long, and sure enough, when her thumb caught on his head, he hissed. "Katniss, I'm gonna come," he warned her hoarsely, but her hand moved steadily, and his hips jerked irregularly as he came. Her hand stilled, seeming to sense he had finished, and as he slumped against her, trying to catch his breath, she carefully extracted her hand.

"Was that okay?" she asked when he hadn't spoken yet, and he chuckled lightly.

"Yes, definitely," he breathed, lifting his head to look at her. "Thank you." Katniss bit her lip coyly, and he pushed off the wall to rebutton his pants. He cringed inwardly when he felt the wet, sticky mess in his shorts. "Guess training's done for the day," he said wryly. "I need to go clean up." She smiled, still leaning against the wall, and he touched her cheek. "Stay with me and eat?" he asked hopefully, and she nodded. Lacing their hands together, Peeta helped her gather the training supplies, and they rounded his house to enter through the front door, but she tugged on his hand, pulling him to a stop at the bottom of his steps. When he looked at her, a look of consternation had settled on her face. For a moment, Peeta feared their earlier actions were starting to trouble her.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm going to teach you how to swim," she announced quietly, and he frowned in confusion.

"How?"

"Next Saturday, we'll go back to the cabin and the lake," she said, but that just confused him even more.

"You got a way to turn the electricity off in the fence, sweetheart?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow, and she shook her head.

"I've been scouting the area around the fence lately, and there's a large maple tree in one spot on the other side of the fence, and some of its branches extend over on this side. If we get some rope from the Hob, I'm pretty sure we can get it around one of the branches and climb up," she explained, but he was already shaking his head.

"No, no way. That's way too risky, Katniss, no," he said firmly. She glared at him.

"You could have drowned in the first games," she snapped. "You should know how to swim. If you're going back in, you shouldn't be at the mercy of something as stupid as that!"

His nostrils flared, and he balled his hand into a fist as his memory assaulted him with reminders of the first games: his destruction of the Careers' supplies, his near drowning in the lake, the discovery of Axel's dismembered body. He dropped his eyes and swallowed thickly. "And what if we're discovered? What do you think they're going to do to you and your family?" he asked pointedly because, surely, the punishment for trespassing on Capitol land was imprisonment or, most likely, death.

She faltered briefly but shook her head. "We won't be. They don't even patrol the fence. I've been watching. We'll get up the tree, pull the rope up just in case, and then we'll be back in a few hours." Sighing, Peeta pinched the bridge of his nose, ready to argue his point further, but she continued, her voice hard, "Look: I want my father's bow back. Even if...even if I can never use it again, it's one of the only reminders I have left of him. I have to get it back."

He stared at her silently, and her gray eyes flashed with determination. She wasn't going to back down. "Okay, fine," he relented regretfully. "I'll find some rope at the Hob tomorrow. If anyone asks, I'll say I'm making a clothesline or something. I don't like this, though. I hate it when you put yourself at risk just for my sake."

"You would do the same for me, Peeta."

He couldn't argue that. When he sighed in resignation, Katniss squeezed his hand, stepping closer. She smiled. "We could make a picnic out of it," she suggested. "Eat, swim, lie on the shore. What do you think?"

Despite himself, he found himself warming up to the idea. It was a dangerous plan, but he couldn't deny the thrill he got at the idea of slipping away with her, even for only a little while.

"I would like that."

 

Peeta bought the rope in the middle of the week when the Hob was less busy. That Saturday, Katniss stole over to his house in the village early in the morning. It wasn't unusual for her to visit him, but he figured the sooner they got out to the woods, the less likely anyone was to see them. He had made sure to inform Haymitch the day before where they were going (in the backyard while they were practicing throwing knives; he still wasn't sure if the houses were bugged, but he was careful just in case) in the event they got stuck in the woods or caught. Haymitch had snorted and told him they were stupid.

"If you two are so hell-bent on getting caught by Thread, be my guest," he'd said. It wasn't the vote of confidence he wanted to hear, and yet, Peeta still found himself following Katniss to the woods that Saturday morning.

He'd packed a backpack of food and water and towels, which he gave to Katniss to carry, and he carried another backpack with a blanket and the rope stowed inside. They circled the fence from the Victor's Village to the part of the woods where she normally crossed into to avoid walking through the town and being detected. About a mile from the hole in the fence she had led him through once before, she stopped and pointed out the maple tree she had mentioned. She was right about the branches extending far out over the fence; there was a thick one that looked like it could hold both of their weights.

Moving fast, Katniss slipped behind him and unzipped the bag, pulling the rope out. They had tied a rock to it to give it a weighted end they could throw over the tree. Peeta took it from her, grasping the rock in his right hand and eyeing the branch critically. Pulling his arm back, he tossed the rock into the air with a soft grunt. It soared up and arced over the branch, plummeting to the ground.

"I'll go first," she whispered. "You hold the other side of the rope, okay? Once I get up, untie the rock, and I'll pull the rope up to tie it around the branch for you to climb up." He nodded, his pulse quickening. Stepping on the rock, he grabbed the rope firmly, and she took the other side. When he was ready, she hopped off the ground, grabbing at a higher spot on the rope. The muscles in his arms tightened against her added weight, but he held tight. Katniss didn't have a lot of upper body strength, but she was light and quick; she'd spent her life climbing trees. As she pulled herself up to the branch, using her feet to help propel herself, he glanced around nervously. Relieved there was no one else around, he looked up just as Katniss hoisted herself up on the branch, swinging her leg over to straddle it. She nodded down at him, and he hurriedly untied the rock from his end, allowing her to draw the rope up. She worked quickly to knot the rope around the branch, and she gave him the signal when she was finished.

Hesitantly, he bore down on the rope to test his weight; it held fast. Looking around one more time, he stretched his arm up and, curling his hand around the rope tightly, drew his body upward. He wasn't as quick as Katniss, but he at least had the strength; he was suddenly grateful for the number of times his wrestling coach had made his team practice this in training. It took him longer, but once he had a hold on the branch, Katniss scooted back some to allow him room but kept close enough in case he slipped. Once he'd pulled himself over the branch, he sat up carefully and smiled at her. "Thanks for the lessons in tree climbing," he said, and she smiled in return.

"Untie the rope and hand it to me," she directed. He complied, pulling the rope up entirely before passing it her way, and she shimmied across the branch to the trunk of the tree. Wrapping it around the trunk, she tied another knot and dropped the other end down the length of the tree. With one last glance at him, she swung down the rope, bracing her feet against the trunk to quickly climb down. Peeta carefully crawled along the branch; it was a long fall to the ground. Grabbing the rope, he wrapped his body around the trunk and planted his feet against the trunk as Katniss had done. Slowly, he climbed down, the rope sliding through his hands painfully, but when he was far enough down, he pushed off the tree and released the rope, landing on the ground clumsily. She steadied him, and he turned around to face her, smiling gratefully.

"We'll have to leave the rope behind, but I don't think anyone will see it from here," she said, and he nodded. She directed him to follow her, and they walked the mile to her normal entry point so she could retrieve her bow. When she pulled it and her quiver of arrows from their hiding spot, she hugged them to her body in relief before she swung them over her shoulder. Then they set off for the cabin.

By the time they reached the lake, his leg didn't ache as badly as it had before. The flesh around his knee had developed a bit of a callous from his running training. And the warm weather helped. The woods were more beautiful now than in the winter, and when they reached the shore of the lake, he stared out over the water, mystified. Being here, miles from District 12 and the peacekeepers and the danger that awaited them should they be discovered, he'd never felt more relaxed. He glanced sideways at Katniss, and when she finally looked at him, he smiled warmly.

"Let's eat," he said, and she retrieved the blanket from his backpack and spread it out on the ground a few feet from the water. They plopped down and began pulling food out of Katniss' backpack. They feasted on Danishes and puff pastries. Once they had their fill, Katniss insisted they wait a little bit before swimming so they didn't get any stomach cramps; they lay side by side on the blanket, staring up at the puffy white clouds that dotted the blue sky. Reaching across the blanket, he grabbed her hand.

"Thanks for bringing me here," he said softly, and without even looking he knew she was smiling.

"I thought you might change your mind once you were out here," she responded with a mocking air of superiority, and he laughed lightly. The sun was warm on his face, and it was deliciously calming. He closed his eyes.

He must have dozed off for a few minutes because the next moment, Katniss was rousing him, leaning over him to block out the sun. "It's time for your lesson," she informed him, and he blinked. She stood up as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

"So, how do we do this?" he asked, observing her quietly. "We don't have bathing suits. We swimming in our underwear?" His voice was teasing, and he assumed she would get embarrassed at the prospect.

She threw him an amused look over her shoulder, however. "I usually just swim naked," she said simply, and his heart stopped. She laughed at his expression. "We can keep our underwear on, Peeta. This is an important lesson, so we can't afford any distractions."

He wanted to tell her that even in her underwear she was going to be a distraction, but he swallowed thickly and stood up. With her back to him, she pulled off her shirt, and he averted his eyes. He couldn't get an erection now. Sighing inwardly, he quickly disposed of his own shirt and unbuttoned his pants, stepping out of his shoes. When his pants dropped to the ground, he kicked them aside. He turned back to her, and his throat immediately went dry as he took her in, clad in only her underwear. Fuck.

Katniss faced him, and she looked just as nervous as he felt, her eyes sweeping down his body. Her gaze lingered on his prosthetic, however. "Can you get that wet?" she asked, fidgeting with her braid, and he nodded. "Well, let's get started then." He watched her as she walked into the water, farther and father, until her head disappeared beneath the water. When she resurfaced, she was farther out in the lake, treading water. "You coming?" she called out, and he edged closer. When his feet touched the water, he gasped.

"You didn't say it was cold," he accused, and she laughed, swimming toward him until she could reach the bottom.

"Your body will adjust, I promise. The faster you do it, the better it will be; trust me."

Taking a deep breath, he steeled his nerves, then he threw himself forward, splashing through the water as he darted into the lake. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he cursed loudly, gasping as the water reached his chest. He stopped there, and Katniss laughed again, coming up beside him.

"You need to submerge your head," she instructed him, and he looked at her as if she had suddenly sprouted two heads. "Do it real fast. Like a bandage."

With a groan, he closed his eyes, took another deep breath and dunked his head under. Then he immediately popped back up, sputtering. She was grinning at him, and he pouted, swiping at the water dripping into his eyes.

"Oh, don't be such a baby," she chided humorously. "You'll thank me later." He wasn't so sure about that. "Now, the first thing you need to realize about humans is that they float. I know your natural instinct when you're in water and think you're drowning is to flail, but don't do that. Just relax, and your body will float to the surface. I need you to lie on your back."

Peeta raised an eyebrow dubiously, and she smiled. "I have to show you how to float. Don't worry, I won't let you drown." He sighed, and she circled around him, placing her hand on the middle of his back. "Do you trust me?" she asked quietly next to his ear, and he looked at her.

"Of course."

"Then lean back." When he hesitated, she touched his arm.

"I'll be right here. Nothing's going to happen," she said soothingly, and he licked his lips. Slowly, he leaned backward, her hand a gentle reassurance on his back. "Lift your legs up. Try to relax." He followed her directions, his feet drifting off the bottom of the lake, and his head bobbed precariously on the surface, but her hand pressed on his back firmly, pushing him up. He stared up at the sky, the water rushing over his ears, but he didn't sink. Katniss smiled encouragingly at him when he glanced at her, and he could feel the tension leaving his body, his limbs relaxing.

After a moment, he felt her fingers leave his back, and he looked at her in alarm. She raised her eyebrows. "Trust me," she whispered, stepping away slightly to give him room. He was breathing heavily, but he focused on the sky, fixing in on one cloud in particular. It looked like a bird. He imagined it was a mockingjay. It calmed him.

His body bobbed weightlessly on the surface of the water, and he smiled. He was floating. It was just that easy. Katniss stepped back toward him and pressed on his back again, forcing him into a standing position. "See? Nothing to it, right?" she said, and he chuckled.

"Eh, I was never really worried," he boasted, and she just laughed.

She had him practice floating and treading water some more. Then she taught him a few basic swimming strokes but made him keep his head above water. Once he felt comfortable with those moves, she had him try them under the water. He often resurfaced after only a few feet, coughing and sputtering, but she was always at his side in an instant to reassure him he was fine. After a while, they swam closer to the shore until they could stand on the bottom of the lake, wading in the water.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "For the swimming lessons, for all you've done to help Haymitch and me train. You didn't have to throw your lot in with me, but you did. I could never repay you for all you've done."

She gave him a significant look, her arms swishing underneath the water. "Peeta...you helped me once, when no one else would. When you didn't have to, when you didn't even know me."

The bread. "Are you still on that?" he asked, shaking his head. "As far as I'm concerned, you've more than paid me back."

She looked away, chewing on her lip. "But it's always the first gift that's hardest to pay back."

He gave her a pointed look. "I hope you don't think I'm expecting you to pay me back."

She shook her head. "No, I don't think that, it's just..."

He didn't think he was ever going to understand her guilt, this debt she thought she owed. "Good. Because I certainly didn't ask for your help because I felt like you owed me. I asked you because I'm pretty sure you're the smartest person in this entire district," he said with a smile, hoping to get her off the subject of paying him back.

She huffed, rolling her eyes. "Hardly."

"I'm serious. You know how to swim, hunt, climb trees, use a weapon, make a snare. Is there anything you don't know how to do?" he teased lightly, but her face was serious.

"There are many things I don't know how to do," she said, an edge to her voice, and he clamped his mouth shut. They were quiet for a moment, Peeta trying to think of a way to steer the conversation into a safer topic of discussion, but she spoke up first, "Peeta...why me?" When he looked at her, she elaborated hesitantly, "I mean, why...do you like me? You said in the games you had a crush on me since you were 5. That story you told Rue, about the first day of school and...Well, I guess I just don't understand. I'm no one special. Why me?"

Peeta pursed his lips as he contemplated her question. It was a question he had asked himself many times when he was growing up, when she had never even noticed him, never even given him a second glance. And why should she have? They were from different worlds, really; even if she knew who he was, the differences in their stations in life would be too difficult to understand. Despite what his mother told him, he didn't think he'd care, but for a girl from the Seam, things would have been infinitely harder for Katniss. It wasn't like the class lines had never been crossed before—the Everdeens were proof of that—but he couldn't put that on her. And really, who was he? Who was he to think he'd even be worth the trouble, the kind of person for whom Katniss would even be willing to put herself through hell? So when he had accepted that, accepted he would never have her, he had tried to move on, find someone else he could like as much as he liked her, someone who could consume his thoughts as much as she did. But his efforts had been fruitless.

"I guess it was superficial at first," he started, spreading his fingers out over the rippling water, distracting himself from having to look at her yet. "You can probably blame my father for my initial interest. I'm sure he thought his comments were harmless, but I kind of got stuck on you after that. And your voice, it was bewitching, really. But I saw you around school, around town, and you were just so happy. Carefree. Guess I just wanted to know what that was like, you know. I wondered if you...if you could make me that happy. If I could know you, if you could give me even just a taste of what that felt like, to be so happy and loved by your family."

When he glanced at her, she was watching him sadly. He cleared his throat awkwardly, sinking lower into the water. "After your father...well, I recognized another aspect to you. You were so strong. And brave. Taking on everything you did just to take care of your family...I really respected you. Admired you. I don't know anyone as courageous as you."

She sighed, dropping her eyes to the water. "I had to be. I didn't really have a choice," she muttered, almost to herself, and he shrugged slightly. She looked up at him again. "So why didn't you ever just talk to me?"

He laughed breathily, tipping his head back to look at the sky, the water lapping at his ears. "I don't know, really. Psyched myself out too much, I think. I guess...I guess by a certain point, I'd just built you up too much in my head that—that I couldn't stand it if you rejected me. My mother...she's always told me I was worthless. I just, I don't think I could take it if another woman I cared about thought the same thing," he said, his voice cracking on the last word, and he swallowed thickly.

He was startled when he felt her body graze his, and he looked down to find her directly in front of him, staring up at him earnestly. "You're not worthless, Peeta," she said firmly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing her body close to his. He choked back his surprise, encircling her waist with his arms in a tight hug and burying his face against her neck. "You're not worthless, please don't think that. You're worth so much more than every hand you've been dealt. You're too good for this stupid world," she murmured against the nape of his neck, and he couldn't help the bitter laugh that slipped from his mouth.

"Guess it's a good thing I'll be gone soon, then," he joked darkly, and she pulled back slightly to glare at him. The anger and hurt in her eyes sucked the air from his lungs.

"Please, don't joke like that right now," she said, bracketing his face with her hands, and he nodded mutely.

"Sorry," he whispered after a moment, and she shook her head.

"No, I'm the one who's sorry," she said softly, pain thickening her voice. She brushed a hand over his face, tenderly smoothing the wet hair off his forehead, and he closed his eyes, reveling in her touch. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry that I spent so much time avoiding you and being mad at you. I wasted so much time..."

Astonished, he opened his eyes to find hers, swirling puddles of silver in the sun; he thought he might drown in them. "Don't be sorry," he murmured. "I'm the one who wasted time. I had 11 years to say something..."

She was kissing him suddenly, pushing her tongue into his mouth. This was the first kiss she had initiated, the first one she seemed determined to control; he was more than happy to submit. Her teeth scraped against his lips, her tongue gliding along his teeth. Peeta could feel every inch of her body pressed against his; the wet material of her underclothes did little to cover the pressure of her hardened nipples against his chest. He slid his arm under her bottom to hike her up, but she broke the kiss abruptly, pushing away from him in the water, and he blinked at her, dumbfounded.

"We should—let's get out of the water," she said shakily, already gliding back to the shore. She didn't turn back until she was standing near their blanket, and she looked at him expectantly.

He cleared his throat awkwardly; he was hard, and he didn't want to walk out of the water in his soaking wet, probably see-through boxers with an erection. "I just need a moment," he called to her, and she cocked her head.

"Peeta...you don't have to be shy now," she said slowly, scooping up a towel and using it to dry off her arms. "I—I get it." She clutched the towel to her body.

With a sigh, he mussed his wet hair with his hand, sure it was sticking up everywhere. Steeling his nerves, he headed toward her, and as he emerged from the water, he was extremely aware of the imposing bulge in his shorts. He thought Katniss did her level best not to stare, but her eyes still darted back and forth between his face and his groin, a blush highlighting her olive cheeks. He was sure his face was equally flushed. She handed him his towel and continued drying off while he did the same.

When he turned toward her, she pressed against him again, startling him, and he gasped when his erection brushed against her stomach. She stretched up on her toes, grasping his face in her hands, and she drew him down into another lusty kiss; he gripped her elbows to steady her, then slid his hands around her back as he licked his way inside her mouth. She moaned softly, their tongues clashing, but then she pulled away again, rattling him.

"Peeta, I-I..." she stammered, tripping over her words, and he stared at her, unnerved. "I...want you."

He smiled, cupping her cheek. "I want you, too," he said reassuringly, but she still looked apprehensive. She stepped back and plopped down on the blanket, her legs curled to the side, and she peered up at him.

"I mean—I want to have sex with you," she said bluntly, and his eyes widened.

"Oh," he breathed, but her words had rooted him in place, his pulse thundering in his ears. To emphasize her point, she reached behind her and unclasped her bra, shrugging it off her shoulders and dropping it to the blanket next to her. His eyes were glued to her bare chest; her dark, erect nipples were enticing, and his cock twitched at the thought of wrapping his tongue around them as he had in the cabin. Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground beside her, watching her face as intently as she watched his. Glancing at her breasts again, he swallowed, and forced his eyes back to hers. "Really?" he asked weakly. "You want—you really wanna do this?"

She nodded wordlessly.

His face inched closer to hers, and he could tell she was breathing just as heavily as he was. Their lips brushed against each other, just the faintest of touches. "I don't, I don't have anything with me, any protection," he said regretfully, remembering her words from that day in the cabin, and she lifted a hand to his face.

"That's okay," she murmured, nudging her nose against his. "Just—pull out before you finish, okay?"

Swallowing thickly, he nodded in understanding before he pressed his mouth to hers. The kiss was tender at first, but it quickly became heated, and he scooped her legs up to extend them in front of her. Katniss leaned back, lowering herself to the blanket until she lay stretched out underneath him, and he nudged her legs apart with his knee to crawl between them. Placing his hands on either side of her head, he hovered over her, watching her face, then dipped his head to her breasts to take one nipple into his mouth. She inhaled sharply as he pursed his lips around the tip of her breast, swirling his tongue around the hardened bud, and she pressed up toward him, moaning low in the back of her throat. Her hand fumbled for his, bringing it up to cover her other breast, and his hand closed reflexively around the mound, rolling her nipple against his palm. With his teeth, he tugged on her nipple, pinching her other nipple between his fingers, and she gasped, her hands tightening around his forearm. Peeta trailed his lips to her other breast and sucked that nipple into his mouth, moving his hand down in between her legs. He pushed the material of her underwear out of the way, his fingers finding her slick with want, and he moaned against her breast just as she did. He gathered some of the wetness pooling between her thighs and inched his hand higher, seeking out the sensitive bundle of nerves. Lighting upon it, his fingers began rubbing small, purposeful circles over it, and she arched into him with a prolonged groan. He focused his ministrations there and stroked her clit firmly until she bucked against him, crying out, and as she came, he pushed two of his fingers inside her.

Feeling her pulse around him, he thought he might explode right then. He lifted his mouth from her breast and captured her lips with his, swallowing her moans, and he pumped his fingers in and out of her gingerly. Based on their conversation in the cabin, he was certain she'd never had sex before; he knew he was going to hurt her some, but he wanted to make it as painless as possible for her.

She curled her hands around his neck as he kissed her, and when he couldn't stand it any longer, he slipped his fingers out of her and sat back on his haunches, tugging her panties off. Now, she was naked before him, and he took a moment to drink in the sight. He checked her face for any sign of doubt, to reassure himself she wanted to keep going, and she looked back at him, her eyes clouded with desire. Standing up, he hooked his thumbs around the waistbands of his boxers and swiftly pushed them down. Her eyes widened when his cock sprang free, but her legs, bent at the knees, seemed to open wider for him, and he settled back down between them, leaning over her. Her breath caught in her throat when his tip brushed against her opening, and he had to fight every instinct in his body to not just plunge himself into her.

"You think—you're ready?" he struggled to ask, and she breathed an answer in the affirmative, grabbing his shoulders as he poised himself between her thighs. "It might hurt," he warned, pausing to kiss her before he continued, "I'm sorry. I'll be gentle."

She nodded, pulling him down for another kiss, and he pushed into her, slowly, but he didn't stop until he was buried to the hilt. Katniss gasped around his tongue, her nails cutting into his skin, and he fought back his groan of satisfaction. He opened his eyes to look at her, and her face was pinched in discomfort, her teeth digging into her bottom lip.

"Does it hurt? Sorry," he whispered, trying to focus on her, just her, but, oh, God, it felt wonderful, so wonderful.

She swallowed and made a whining sound in the back of her throat. "A little, just kind of—a stretch. I'll be fine. Keep going," she urged, her voice strained, and he swept his tongue into her mouth. Then he pulled out and pushed in again, and he couldn't swallow his moan this time. This was a new sensation for him. The times he'd had sex before, he had used a condom. He could feel everything, and whether she meant to or not, she kept clenching and unclenching around him, and, just...fuck.

He moved slowly at first, watching her face closely, and each time he thrust forward, the tension lessened in her face, until her mouth was hanging open as she greedily sucked in air between quiet gasps and whimpers. Sweat beaded on his forehead, on his upper lip, with the effort to restrain himself, but once her face had relaxed, he dropped his own to her neck, surging into her. "Katniss," he moaned, dragging his teeth along her collarbone, and she arched against him, her hands fisting in his hair. He could feel his orgasm rapidly approaching, and he gasped out a warning. "I'm gonna—I gotta—" He didn't finish his thought; with one more hard thrust, he pulled out quickly, grabbing his cock and spilling his semen on her stomach. Groaning, he pressed his face into her neck while he pulsed in his hand, and she flexed her thighs around his waist, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

Moments passed, and Peeta finally untangled himself from her, drawing back to look at her. "Was that okay—for you?" he asked hoarsely, his throat feeling dry, and she nodded, her eyes swimming. He pushed himself up on his knees and grabbed one of the towels to wipe her stomach off. He noticed a little bit of blood on his cock, and he frowned at her. "I didn't hurt you too bad, did I?" he asked, concerned, and she shook her head.

"Not too bad," she whispered, smiling slightly, and he flashed her a soft smile in return. Lovingly, he pressed the towel to the juncture at her thighs to clean her off a little. "Ah!" she gasped, and he cringed.

"Sorry, sorry," he mumbled, dropping a few kisses on her lips, and she laughed breathily.

"It's okay. Thank you..."

He climbed out from between her legs and rolled onto his back beside her, finally catching his breath. They were silent for a few minutes, staring at the sky, their chests rising and falling in unison. Katniss eventually reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his, and he turned his head to stare at her profile. She kept her face tipped toward the sky, but she sensed his eyes and smiled. His gaze drifted down her naked body, and he could feel himself stirring in response. Already. He sighed in annoyance.

"We should probably get back home," she said softly, and he agreed, though, truthfully, he wished they never had to leave this place. How could he go back after all this? How could he go on, marching toward his death, when he finally had a taste of a life with her? It was going to hurt like hell.

Pushing the painful thoughts aside, he sat up. "You're right. Back to real life," he said thickly, and she pushed herself into a sitting position, giving him a sad smile.

They dressed, Peeta avoiding looking at her until she was clothed so he wouldn't have to walk back with a hard-on, and they packed up all their supplies. She kept her bow and arrows out, and along the way she shot a few squirrels and stuffed the kills in her mostly empty backpack; she knew she wouldn't be able to trade them in the Hob, but she wanted to give some to the Hawthornes and keep a couple for her own family. Back at the fence, they climbed back up the maple tree using the rope. On the other side, Peeta went down first so Katniss could untie the rope from the tree and throw the other end down as well; he held onto it while she climbed down, and once she was on the ground, he coiled the rope back up and shoved it into his bag. They wrapped her bow and quiver in the blanket, and he carried it under his arm while they walked back to Victor's Village the long way. They relaxed once they approached his house, having encountered no one on their way, and he stopped at the bottom of his porch to gather her into his arms. They stood there for a few minutes until Katniss squirmed, lifting her head up and pulling his face toward hers simultaneously, kissing him eagerly.

"You're gonna have to stop that if you ever expect me to let you get home," he chastised with a low chuckle as he broke away, and she flushed happily.

"Can you hold onto my bow for now?" she asked. "Until I have a better way to conceal it and sneak it to the Seam?" He nodded, taking it from her when she pushed it into his hands. She smiled gratefully, giving him a last, lingering kiss. "I'll see you later," she said, her eyes flashing, and he grinned.

"See you later," he whispered, watching her form until she was out of sight. He bounded up the steps and entered his house. When he shut the door, he leaned against it, feeling inexplicably despondent now that he was alone. It crept up on him as soon as she had walked away, and he realized she had taken a piece of him with her. How was he ever going to let her go now?

Two more weeks until the reaping.


	10. Chapter 10

**x. This is not the end, this is just the world**

Those two weeks flew by quickly, way too quickly. The day before the reaping for the Quarter Quell, Peeta readied himself for a final dinner with his family. Last year, he hadn't known the dinner before the reaping was going to be (and would have been, should have been) his last with his family; he'd had the usual nerves that he had before every reaping then, but he had still been relatively safe in his ignorance then, buffered from the threat of death by his Merchant upbringing. This time, though, he headed to dinner with a lead ball of utter dread weighing heavily in his stomach, knowing it would be the last. He wasn't sure he would be able to make it through the night without breaking down.

Grabbing a small bag, he threw it over his shoulder and walked out the front door. As he descended the steps, he noticed Haymitch sitting on his own porch across the way. With a glass in his hand. Peeta sighed and trotted in that direction, and as he approached, his mentor nodded in greeting. He must have noticed Peeta's disapproving glare because he chuckled gruffly.

"Get that stick out of your ass, kid," he said, taking a sip from his cup. "This is my first drink of the night. And my only. I just wanted to toast my potentially last night in District 12."

Pursing his lips, Peeta decided not to hark on the issue. Who was he to deny a grown man one last comfort? "What are you doing out here? I rarely see you outside of your house unless it's me or Katniss dragging you out to train," he commented, leaning against the porch post.

"Just thought I'd like to take in this beautiful night. See the sun set, watch the night sky for a little while," Haymitch mused, swirling his liquor around. Peeta nodded in understanding, inhaling the summer air. It smelled like grass and something else he didn't know how to describe as anything other than life. "Where are you off to?"

Peeta inclined his head in the direction of the town. "Dinner with the family."

Haymitch smirked. "The Last Supper, eh?" It seemed to be a reference Peeta didn't understand, so he lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. Haymitch took another sip. "Well, good luck with that."

"Yeah," Peeta said softly, then he squinted at the older man. "You wanna come?"

The invitation seemed to surprise Haymitch; Haymitch was never surprised. His eyes softened, but he shook his head. "Thanks, kid, but I think I'll sit this one out. Go be with your family." Peeta stared at him, a lump forming in his throat. He didn't know how to tell his mentor that he was his family, too. He didn't think Haymitch would want to hear it, anyway.

He cleared his throat. "Well. I'll see you tomorrow then," he said. Haymitch raised an eyebrow and nodded his head resolutely.

"Tomorrow."

With a wave, Peeta headed into town. When he reached the bakery, he noticed the "Closed" sign in the window. The other Merchants were still open, as it wasn't quite the usual closing time for the shops, but his father must have convinced his mother to close early. Knowing his mother, she probably put up a huge fuss about it, too. He hoped that didn't sour the evening; he didn't want to leave mad or upset with anyone.

Stepping inside, he quietly shut the door, but the bell chimed, anyway. He could hear footsteps on the stairs. His dad emerged from the hallway that led to his family's home upstairs, and his face lit up when he saw Peeta, though pain hooded his eyes. "Good to see you, son," he said, pulling him into a fierce hug, and for a moment, Peeta felt like he was 6 years old again, seeking comfort from his dad after he had scraped his knee playing Hop Scotch with Delly. He laughed, because he felt like if he didn't, he would cry. When his dad finally let go, he kissed Peeta's forehead. He hadn't done that since he was little, either.

"Good to see you, too, dad," he said softly. His father smiled.

"Come on, everyone's already here."

Peeta followed his dad upstairs. Whatever they had made for dinner smelled delicious, and he sniffed the air. Was that meat? His family didn't eat meat often, unless it was the game they'd gotten from Katniss and Gale, and those two hadn't been able to trade in months; the butcher's meat was expensive, and the Mellarks had more than enough grains to subsist on. When he rounded the corner into the living room, he saw Rye first, sprawled out on the couch. He glanced at Peeta and immediately jumped up, ruffling his hair. Smiling, Peeta went to hug his brother, but Rye twisted away and pulled him into a headlock.

"Damnit, Rye! Knock it off," he grouched, pushing him away, and Rye laughed.

"Gotta keep you on your toes, little brother," he said with a shrug. "Just reminding you I could still pin you."

Peeta arched an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge? 'Cuz I'm pretty sure I got a few more pounds on you now." And he had beefed up some with his training. Rye scowled, clearly not liking that his younger brother was stronger than him.

"Let's go, you little twerp. Right now—" Rye started, but their father cut him off with a stern look.

"Dinner first," he said. "If you two still want to wrestle, do it after."

When their father had turned his back, Rye glared mockingly at Peeta, pointing at him and dragging his finger across his neck in a threatening gesture. Peeta just chuckled. He was going to miss the hell out of his brother; he never took anything seriously, but he was always good for a laugh. The thought made him sad, so he pushed it away.

His older brother, Barm, and his wife, Marnie, who was heavily pregnant by this point, emerged from the hallway that led to the bedrooms and the one bathroom. Marnie looked painfully uncomfortable as Barm helped her into a chair at the dining table, but they smiled at him when they noticed him.

"Hey, Peet," Barm greeted, pulling him into a hug, and after he stepped aside, Peeta leaned down to hug Marnie and kiss her cheek. She pushed the hair off his forehead affectionately before he could pull away.

"You're letting your hair get too long, Peeta," she said with a smile. "It's getting hard to see those baby blues of yours."

He grinned, touching her stomach. "You look like you're about to pop! You doin' okay?"

She grimaced. "Baby Mellark's just been pushing on my bladder. Gotta pee every five minutes."

Peeta laughed and glanced at Barm. "You guys got any names picked out yet?"

The mood shifted suddenly, and his brother and his wife shared an odd look; Peeta was about to apologize for some unseen faux pas, but Marnie spoke up before he could, "Well...we  _had_ picked out a couple names. Rane for a girl, Galen for a boy. But..." And she looked up at Barm, who turned to Peeta.

"Well, we were thinking instead...either Pietro or Petra...after you," he explained gently, rendering Peeta speechless. His eyes darted between the two of them before resting on Marnie's distended belly, and he felt tears pricking at his eyes.

"Oh," he breathed dumbly, afraid he was going to lose it right then. "Oh. Th-thanks, guys...I don't know what to say..." Barm rested a hand on his shoulder, his own eyes shining with unshed tears, and Marnie squeezed Peeta's hand comfortingly. With a shaky smile, Peeta swiped at his eyes hastily and cleared his throat. "Mom in the kitchen?" he asked, and they nodded.

Venturing in that direction, he found his mother at the stove while his father pulled out plates and cups. "Hi, mom," he said hesitantly, already bracing himself for some sort of verbal assault. But when she looked at him, her eyes weren't as hard as they usually were.

"You made it," she said neutrally, stirring something in a pot, and he just nodded. Remembering the bag he'd brought with him, he stepped into the kitchen farther.

"I brought...well, this is all the money I've saved in the past year," he said awkwardly, holding the bag out to them. His mother eyed it, and his father turned away from the cabinets. "I wanted to make sure you guys had it. I haven't counted it, but it's a decent amount. When I—" he swallowed his next words,  _die in the arena_ , remembering his family didn't know for a fact he was going to die like he knew. He struggled to continue, "If I...don't come back, they're going to stop my winnings. I just want to make sure everyone is—well-taken care of," he finished lamely.

His father just stared at the bag of coins as if it were going to bite him, so his mother wiped her hands on her apron and accepted it from Peeta's hands. "Thank you, Peeta," she said stiffly, surprising him further. Had she ever said any words of gratitude to him before? If she had, it'd been too long ago to remember. He swallowed thickly, giving a curt nod. She looked at her husband as she set the money down on the counter. "Well, we got some roast from the butcher," she said, pulling on an oven mitt. "Dinner's almost ready, so help your father set the table."

Roast. They went all out on this dinner. Oddly touched, Peeta smiled and took the plates from his father, heading back into the living room where the others waited, gathered around the table.

 

 

It was nearly midnight by the time Peeta made it back to the village. He'd started crying once he'd reached the edge of town, tears sliding soundlessly down his cheeks, and he took a deep breath, wiping them away with the back of his hand. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling out a leaf. He laughed tearfully as it fluttered through the stale summer air; Rye had talked him into a wrestling match after dinner in front of the bakery with Barm as referee. Peeta had won three out of the five matches, though Rye insisted he had been taking it easy on his "baby brother." But Peeta knew his brother's pride would never let him concede defeat like that.

Peeta was on the top step of his porch, unlocking his door, when he heard his name in the distance. Confused, he turned around and squinted out into the darkness that cloaked the town. Katniss was running toward him, her braid flying behind her, and his mouth parted in alarm. What was she doing there? "Is something wrong—" he started to ask as she took the steps two at a time, but she swallowed his question with a kiss, throwing her arms around his neck and knocking him into the door. His own arms cinched her waist, and even though the doorknob dug into his back, he returned the kiss just as aggressively.

"Again," she gasped against his lips, sweeping her tongue into his mouth for another kiss before she pulled away to finish, "I want you to—I want you." She kissed him again, bringing him back to his senses, and he fumbled with the doorknob, bringing her inside. He hiked her up so her legs wrapped around his waist, and he shut the door with his foot and carried her to the stairs. She clung to his shoulders, and he yanked her shirt over her head as he climbed upstairs. "Am I too heavy?" she asked, biting his lip, and he grunted.

"You weigh as much as a bag of flour," he said, stumbling slightly on a step and grabbing the railing. She ducked her head so he could see the rest of his way up the stairs, tonguing the pulse point under his jaw. Once he reached the second floor, she pawed at his shirt, tugging it over his head and dropping it behind them. It took everything in him not to just push her up against the wall and fuck her there. He found his bedroom and dropped her on the bed unceremoniously. While he floundered with unbuttoning his pants and tugging his shoes off, she kicked her own boots off and peeled off her pants, tossing them over his shoulder. Now fully naked, he watched her remove her bra, then he grabbed her legs and flipped her onto her back, yanking her toward him. Peeta ripped her panties from her feet, flinging them halfway across the room in his haste, and he crawled over her, pinning her to the bed. When he slid his tongue into her mouth, she moaned and arched toward him.

"Peeta," she whimpered, clawing at his shoulders. "Now." Her hips bucked against his, but he held her back, dipping his hand between her legs as he dipped his head to her breasts. Sucking her nipple into his mouth, he slipped his fingers through her folds. She was wet, but he wanted to make sure she was wet enough by the time he entered her. Katniss mewled as his fingers drifted up toward the hooded cleft at the juncture of her thighs, and he stroked her clit while he worried her breasts with his tongue and his teeth. His body thrumming with need, he settled between her legs and opened them wider. Peeta spread around some of the wetness pooling at her opening, then he poised himself between her thighs.

"You ready?" he panted, sliding his cock against her center.

"Yes!" she gasped, drawing him down to her, and he pushed into her, forcing another gasp from her lungs. Withdrawing, he thrust forward again and hissed through his teeth. There was a desperation in their movements this time, different from the last; Peeta fucked her hard and fast, and Katniss arched to meet his thrusts every time, her fingers digging into his shoulder blades as she keened into his ear. She pressed on his jaw, forcing his mouth to hers, and their tongues clashed wetly. She broke the kiss when she gasped again, but he panted against her mouth as his hips bucked into hers, nipping at her lips. He felt his orgasm building, and he so badly wanted to just bury himself inside her as he came, but he remembered at the last second their lack of protection.

"Fuck," he grunted, pulling out hastily and spurting his semen across her belly. He trembled on top of her, burying his face against her neck until his orgasm subsided. When he felt her hands smooth through his hair, he looked up at her. Then he lowered his mouth onto her breast again, slipping his hand back between her legs. She squeaked, fisting his hair as he sucked on her nipple and rubbed her clit, and she came in a matter of seconds, her back bowing underneath him and her mouth falling open in a soundless cry. He collapsed on top of her, holding her close as small tremors shook her body. The exhaustion of the day suddenly crept up on him, but before he could give into it, he shifted his weight off of her and lay beside her. He grabbed part of the sheet and wiped her off, then he dropped his head to the pillow beside her, gazing at her face.

Sensing his stare, she rolled onto her side to face him. They stared at each other silently until he brushed some hair out of her face.

"Hi," she whispered. "Since I didn't say it earlier."

He laughed lightly. "Hi yourself," he said, and she sighed, scooting closer to him to tuck her head under his chin. "Do you...have to go home at a certain time?" he asked, hesitant, but she shook her head.

"I'm gonna stay right here," she said sleepily, and he wrapped his arms around her. His eyelids drooped, sleep tugging at the edges of his consciousness, and it wasn't long before he succumbed.

 

 

Peeta woke hours later in the middle of the night, not unusual for his regular sleeping patterns. But he was confused when he realized it wasn't a nightmare that had roused him; he couldn't remember any dreams, actually. Blinking, his eyes shifted through the darkness until they landed on the sleeping form next to him. Katniss was sprawled on her back, flush against his stomach; her bare breasts rose and fell with her even breaths. He couldn't help it—his cock twitched at the sight, and he was moving before he could think about it, fluttering kisses over her nipples and down her stomach. Stretching her arms under the pillow, she made a protesting noise as she teetered between sleep and consciousness, her abdomen tensing under his mouth. Peeta bit back an amused chuckle as he crawled between her legs, his nose skimming through the dark curls between her thighs, and he pushed her knees up, opening her center to him. He inhaled deeply, her musky, feminine scent assaulting his senses; she still smelled like sex. It turned him on more.

Opening his mouth over her, he pressed his lips against her and dragged his tongue up to her clit in one long sweep. With a gasp, Katniss startled awake, flying halfway up before she saw his head between her legs and realization dawned on her. She fell back to the bed and fisted the sheets around her, groaning as he sucked on her. "Peeta," she moaned, and he knew he would take that sound, the way she said his name just then, to his grave.

She cried out hoarsely when she came, and while she was still shuddering, he pushed into her, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head as she pulsed around him. This time, he went slow, and she held him close while he moved between her thighs. It was over too soon, and he pulled out before he could finish inside her. Katniss hugged him tightly while he reeled from his orgasm, gasping into her neck. He didn't move for a while, and she didn't seem in a hurry to push him away. At some point, they fell asleep like that, his head still resting on her chest when they awoke early that morning.

They dressed silently, Peeta retrieving their shirts from the hallway; the impending reaping that afternoon loomed oppressively, rendering most conversation pointless. What was there to talk about? Peeta had much he wanted to tell her, but, just like his first reaping when she came to say goodbye, the timing just seemed inappropriate. He walked her to the door, hugging her one final time. Reluctantly, she pulled away after a few minutes; her eyes were hooded with sadness and regret. The earnestness in which she looked at him almost broke him, but he swallowed all the words that rose in his throat.

"I'll be at the reaping, in the square," she said softly. "Look for me, okay?" He nodded, too afraid to speak, and she gave him a kiss before she slipped out the door.

His vision swam with unshed tears and he slid down the door, crumpling on the floor. She would be okay; she had her bow and the rope now, so she could still manage to sneak off into the woods to hunt once in a while, as long as she was careful. And she still had Gale; he would take care of her. Someday, down the road, the two of them would probably get married and, even though she had said she didn't want kids, she might change her mind, and they could start a family together. They would be happy and safe.

He had to keep telling himself that as he got ready for the reaping. He ate, showered and put on his nicest dress shirt and slacks. Pulling out the mockingjay pin he had tucked away in a drawer, he ran his fingers over it before pinning it to his shirt. He cleaned his house, going from room to room to make sure everything was cleared and put away. He lingered in his painting room, staring at the mural he had only just finished earlier that week. It made him feel oddly calm.

When it was nearing 2 o'clock, he left the house, making sure to lock the door, and strolled over to Haymitch's house. He knocked, and Haymitch emerged promptly, giving Peeta a somber look. Together, they hiked their way across town to the square, where district residents were already gathering to watch the events. It was strange to see the area, usually breaming with teenagers, so empty. There would only be two unfortunate souls filling up that space now.

As they moved through the crowd, everyone stepped aside to allow them room, watching them with grim faces, but the two victors held their heads high. They stopped in the designated area for the male candidates; the other side of the square was barren. The stage was empty, the district officials and Effie having yet to make their appearance. Peeta glanced around at the spectators, his eyes immediately lighting upon the blonde heads belonging to his family. His father, his mother, Rye, Barm, Marnie—all of them stood off to the side, and he smiled gratefully at them. His eyes continued scanning the crowd until they landed on Katniss. Dressed in the same blue dress she wore to the last reaping, she clutched Prim's hand tightly in her own, apprehension and dread creasing her face. Gale stood beside her, his expression one of bitterness and anger.

When she noticed him looking, Katniss lifted her hand in a half-hearted wave, and he returned it, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then he looked over at Haymitch, gripped by the realization that the older man had no one there to support him, aside from Peeta. He frowned, and a cursory thought rattled him.

"Hey," he said to Haymitch quietly, drawing his mentor's attention to him. "In case it is just me that gets called...don't even think about volunteering for me. All right?" He narrowed his eyes to emphasize his point, and Haymitch's expression soured. He stared at Peeta for a long minute, the look in his eyes unreadable.

"All right, kid," he said finally, his tone sullen. Nodding to himself, Peeta turned his attention back to the stage just as Mayor Undersee and Effie emerged from the Justice Hall, peacekeepers and other district officials filing out behind them. The mayor approached the podium first to recite the Treaty of Treason and the usual speech he read every year. Peeta stared at the two large bowls that adorned the stage. One was empty; the other contained just two slips, one with his name and one with Haymitch's. His mouth tightened.

Effie finally stepped up to the podium, looking as ridiculous as usual, but her voice and her attitude lacked their usual verve. After she delivered her scripted statements, she concluded with a uncharacteristically unenthusiastic "Happy Hunger Games!" She faltered, glancing at the only two candidates before her, two victors she had come to know very well. "And may the odds be—ever in your favor," she finished weakly. She looked at the empty girls' reaping ball. "Well, usually I start with the ladies, but as there are no females this year, I guess it's gentlemen first!" She wobbled over to the boys' reaping ball, scrapping her fingers around the glass until she grasped onto one of the slips. Peeta wasn't sure, but it sounded like the entire crowd held their breaths simultaneously as she stepped back to the microphone. Her face was already pinched in apprehension before she unfolded the slip.

"Peeta Mellark!"

His name rang out in the silent square; everything was so quiet, he could hear the blood pumping in his veins. And even though he expected it, had prepared for it, he still couldn't help the flip his stomach did. Keeping his face expressionless, he turned to Haymitch, who was watching him mournfully, and Peeta stuck his hand out to shake the older man's. Haymitch squeezed his hand with a curt nod, and then the peacekeepers were leading Peeta up the stage. Effie placed a hand on his shoulder when he took his place next to her, her mouth drooping in a somber frown.

She cleared her throat daintily and spoke into the microphone again, "Now, as we obviously do not have a female tribute to select, I have instructions from the president on the protocol we should follow for choosing a second tribute." Peeta tensed at the mention of the president, nerves already twisting his stomach as he wondered what plan Snow could have possibly devised now to punish him. He looked at Haymitch in concern.

Effie waved over an assistant, who handed her a white envelope. Breaking the seal, she slid out a card and read the instructions out loud, "As District 12 has no surviving female victors from which to reap, the selected male tribute will be asked to choose his partner from the district's pool of eligible females who are of reaping age." Her eyes widened, and the entire crowd seemed to inhale sharply as the news sank in. "Oh..."

Peeta's mind refused to decipher her words, and he stared at her in confusion, willing the instructions to be wrong. Effie stared back at him apprehensively, and when he didn't speak, she gestured to him weakly, murmuring, "Peeta...you have to choose your partner..."

He immediately shook his head. "No. No. Absolutely not. I refuse," he said stubbornly, and her eyes filled with alarm.

"Peeta, you have to—"

He just shook his head again, but he froze when he felt something cold and hard butt against the back of his head. Gasps rose through the crowd, and he pressed his mouth into a thin line as he recognized Thread's voice. "Are you refusing a direct order from the president?" Peeta didn't respond. "Choose your tribute partner, boy, or I have no choice but to kill you for treason," he growled, and Effie squeaked in horror.

"Peeta, just do it!" she hissed, her hands trembling, but Peeta shook his head again.

"No!"

The handle of Thread's gun came down hard on his shoulder, forcing him to his knees, but Thread grabbed him by his shirt collar before he could slump down farther and pressed the gun barrel back against his skull. Spectators started to cry out, and Peeta trained his eyes on the clock tower, trying to suppress his fear. "You have until the count of three, or I shoot," Thread warned, but Peeta ignored him.

"Now wait a damn minute here!" Haymitch yelled, darting toward the stairs, but peacekeepers converged on him, pushing him to the ground and training their guns on him. Peeta prayed the older man would stay down.

"One," Thread started. Effie was begging hysterically by this point, and Peeta closed his eyes.

"Two." Peeta thought he could hear his father and his brothers yelling across the square, but he didn't look. Maybe it was better this way, to die like this. He wouldn't be put into the arena and forced to kill anyone this time, forced to murder other innocent children.  _This is better_ , he told himself, fisting his hands behind his back to hide their shaking.

"Thr—"

"No! I volunteer!" The scream ripped a gasp from Peeta's throat, and his eyes flew open. "I volunteer as tribute!"

Katniss stood in the center of the square, her face flushed red from agitation, her eyes wild. Everything was silent, suspended in time for that split second, until Prim shrieked in horror. "Katniss,  _no_!"

The sight of Prim running toward her sister to yank on her dress brought Peeta back to himself, and he shook his head frantically. "No!" he yelled, and when he saw the peacekeepers move to collect Katniss, he panicked. "No! No, she can't! I didn't choose her!" He started to scramble to his feet, but the butt of Thread's gun connected with his head again, and he stumbled to his knees, his vision careening dangerously, and he grunted in pain.

Prim was still screaming for her sister, who tried to push her away unsuccessfully. Gale swooped in to lift Prim and carry her back into the crowd, and the peacekeepers escorted Katniss up on the stage.

"No! I didn't choose her!" Peeta cried again, his head still swimming from the blow. "You said I had to choose!"

There was commotion on the stage as the officials hurriedly debated the rules and the proper protocol.

"I don't know if a female can volunteer unless prompted to," Effie said uneasily, her voice still quivering, but the mayor spoke up brusquely, "Oh, let her volunteer! What does it matter? She wants to volunteer."

Her wig askew from the frenzy, Effie hastily pulled Katniss to the center of the stage, attempting to regain control of the situation. "Ladies and gentlemen, District 12's first volunteer, Katniss Everdeen!" The crowd was too stunned to respond or protest, and Katniss stared out over the square mutely.

"I didn't choose her," Peeta sobbed, finally managing to push himself to his feet, but Thread fisted the back of his shirt again and kept his gun trained on his head.

"Let's go," Thread commanded, shoving Peeta toward the Justice Hall, and Effie swept Katniss in the same direction behind them. Once inside, the large doors slammed shut behind them, but instead of leading the tributes into separate rooms for their goodbyes, the peacekeepers forced them through the building toward the back. When he realized they were leaving the Justice Building, Peeta gasped.

"But what about our goodbyes? We're supposed to get an hour to say goodbye!" he yelled, but Thread pushed him forward with his gun.

"You're to leave immediately. President's orders," he snapped.

Katniss resisted, her eyes widening. "No! I need to see my family! You have to let me see my family!" she begged, but the peacekeepers shoved them into a car, Effie sliding in behind them. She looked rattled, desperately trying to smooth her hair and dress down.

"Oh, dear!" she fretted, distraught. Everyone was too stunned to talk, and the ride to the train station was thankfully short. They were ushered onto the train, and Effie wrung her hands. "I think I need to make a phone call. Just—just stay here, dears." She scampered out of the car, and Peeta turned on Katniss, finally able to voice his thoughts.

"Why?" he croaked, fisting his hair in his hands. "Why did you do that?"

She looked at him desperately, the despair raw in her eyes. "It's what they wanted, isn't it?" she said hoarsely, her voice cracking. She threw her hands up helplessly. "I mean, that's why they did it, isn't it? It's what they wanted." He moaned in anguish, and a sob hitched in her throat. "Oh, my God, Prim. I just left Prim...and my mom...and Gale. I didn't even get to say goodbye. Oh, God," she wailed, and he seized her arms.

"Listen to me," he demanded harshly, his voice thick, and she stared at him, her eyes wide. "This isn't goodbye. You're gonna live, okay? You're coming back. I'll make sure of it. Do you understand? I'm not going to let you die."

She looked hopeless, tears pooling in her eyes. "But Peeta—you...I..."

Just then, the train door swooshed open, and Haymitch barreled into the car, glaring at them. "What the hell were you thinking, girl?" he sneered, pointing a finger in Katniss' face accusingly. She was on the defensive instantly, drawing her shoulders back and slapping his hand away.

"What did you expect me to do?!" she hissed, swiping at her tears angrily. "Just let him die? I couldn't just let them shoot him!"

Haymitch growled, his head swiveling between the two of them before he huffed in resignation. "I need a fucking drink," he declared, sweeping past them out of the car. At that moment, they felt the train move underneath them as it started its slow creep out of the station, quickly gaining speed. Katniss watched the scenery fly past the windows, the despair returning to her eyes, and with a quiet moan, Peeta pulled her into a hug, tucking her head under his chin.

"You're gonna come back, okay? You're coming back," he repeated in a hollow whisper, a black chasm of hopelessness opening inside him as the train bore them onward toward the Capitol.


	11. Chapter 11

**xi. All I ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you**

Katniss stood perfectly still as Cinna put the finishing touches on her costume for the tributes parade in the Opening Ceremony. He ordered her to close her eyes, and when she did, he used the pad of his ring finger to smudge some of her dark eye makeup. Then he stepped back, and her eyes fluttered open. She wasn't used to makeup; all the mascara and eye shadows and liner made her eyelids feel heavy. Cinna smiled at her.

"Perfect," he said, and despite herself, she flashed him a small, tight smile in return. She wanted to continue being her surly, standoffish self, but Cinna was impossible to hate; she had gotten to know him when he dressed her for Snow's dinner on the Victory Tour. She had initially been shocked when she first met him. After having met the trio who made up her prep team, she had expected someone more flashy, more over-the-top, more...vulgar. But Cinna was the most understated person she had seen in the Capitol yet.

He was also the nicest. His presence put her at ease, and she found herself opening up to him more than she would have expected. He was the only one here she had opened up to, and that included Peeta.

She felt a flash of guilt when she thought of Peeta, but a surge of anger and resentment soon followed. She knew she was being irrational—she was the one who had volunteered, after all—but she couldn't help it. Why did he have to make her care about him? Why did he have to get under her skin? She should have known better. This was why she had sworn off love. Prim was the only person she wanted to care about, to take care of, but Katniss had  _abandoned_  her; she had left her behind in District 12. What kind of sister was she?

This was Peeta's fault. He couldn't just leave her alone. She could have gone the rest of her life, feigning a romance with him when the cameras called for it but never really feeling anything for him, but he had to worm his way into her heart, making her stupid and reckless. He'd made her forget who the most important person in her life was. She couldn't forgive him for that.

Angry with him, and with herself, she had shut him out that first day on the train; as the train carried her farther and farther from Prim, she had panicked and pushed Peeta away, disappearing into her room to cry until Effie forced her to eat with everyone. Peeta had tried to talk to her, but she gave him the cold shoulder. Everyone had been miserable at that table, even Effie, though she had tried her hardest to initiate conversation among the four of them. Eventually, when she realized how fruitless it was, she had given up and sulked into her blueberry cobbler. After dinner, Katniss had retreated to her room once again for the rest of the night. Peeta had knocked on her door in the middle of the night, quietly begging her to let him in, but she simply ignored him, burying her head under her pillow until he finally gave up. The next day, he hadn't tried to approach her; he'd just watched her miserably every time she'd brush past him. He'd spent most of his time in the communal train car, watching old videos of past games that featured the victors who were selected for the quell. She knew she should study up on her competition, as well, try to prepare herself for the games, but she was being stubborn. She wanted to lock herself in her room and avoid everyone, as if she could stage her own personal protest of the games, of what Snow had done.

But she couldn't avoid everyone forever. And now she was going to be forced to meet all the chosen victors, all the people who wanted to kill her. She tried to keep her face emotionless as Cinna led her to the coliseum where the chariots waited to parade each pair of district tributes before the Capitol audience. Stepping off the elevator, her stomach clenched in dread as she glimpsed the other 23 tributes. They mingled with each other, laughing and carrying on as if they were friends. And she guessed they were. They all knew each other.  _She_  was the outsider. What was she doing here? She wasn't a victor. How did she get herself tangled up in this mess? She wanted to dart back into the elevator, but then Cinna was leading her to the District 12 chariot, where Peeta already waited, engaged in a serious conversation with Portia.

When he glanced at her, pain and sorrow flashed through his eyes, and she tried not to react, focusing her stare on Portia instead. Cinna and Portia whispered furtively to each other.

"You two wait here," Portia commanded, and the two of them slinked off, leaving her and Peeta to stand in an uncomfortable silence. Katniss kept her face a mask of indifference, looking anywhere but at him, until her gaze landed on Finnick Odair. The District 4 victor was essentially naked, wearing only a strategically placed fishing net—and he was walking straight toward her. Stiffening, she turned toward Peeta, suddenly desperate to strike up a conversation if it meant Finnick would leave her alone, but when she looked at Peeta, her mouth went dry; she was at a complete loss for words. How do you talk to someone you've been actively avoiding speaking to for days?

His eyes shifted over her shoulder, his eyebrows lifting slightly as Finnick approached. She cringed when she felt his presence behind her, but she didn't turn around.

"It's good to see you again, Peeta," he said over her shoulder, and Peeta nodded, the muscles in his face relaxing some.

"And you, Finnick. A little chilly in here, isn't it?" he asked, his eyebrow quirking humorously, and Katniss flushed at the allusion to the District 4 victor's costume—and what lay beneath.

Finnick laughed dismissively, stepping around Katniss so she was forced to acknowledge his presence. "Oh, Peeta," he said dramatically, clapping a hand down on his shoulder. "The fun you and I could've had together here in the Capitol. It's too bad I didn't see you around sooner."

The corners of Peeta's eyes tightened, and he glanced quickly at her before returning his attention back to Finnick. "I suppose President Snow had other plans for me," he said, smiling darkly. Katniss was confused by their exchange.

Finnick smirked. "I suppose he had other plans for us all in the end." He finally looked at her, his smirk widening. "And Katniss just couldn't stand to miss out, could she?" She glowered at him, but he seemed unfazed, his smile never faltering. "The girl who volunteered. You're kind of freaking me out in that getup. You didn't look this scary the last time you were in the Capitol."

Before she could retort, Peeta spoke up, a wary smile on his face, "You have good reason to be scared, Finnick. You might not want to turn your back on her in the arena."

She narrowed her eyes at him, not sure if he was complimenting her or insulting her. His smile was unnerving, but his eyes were soft.

Finnick feigned an expression of concern. "Well, then. Can't wait to see what all the fuss is about in training." With that, he sauntered away.

Katniss huffed, fixing Peeta with an annoyed glare. "Why did you tell him that?"

He shrugged, his smile dropping. "They should know who they're dealing with. Maybe if you get under their skin now, you can rattle them in the arena."

"Well, I'd rather not have Finnick Odair paying any sort of attention to me in the Training Center," she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

Peeta raised an eyebrow. "He's not so bad," he murmured. "I think we might have liked him...in another lifetime."

She shot him a curious glance, but before she could ask him to elaborate, Cinna and Portia returned. Along with Haymitch. She scowled almost instantly; Haymitch had been fairly hostile toward her since the reaping, and she wasn't exactly pleased with him either. Maybe if he had done something to help Peeta, she would not have been forced to volunteer.

"Listen up, you two," Haymitch said, his voice hard. "When you're out there, don't look at anyone. Don't wave. Don't smile. This is serious. You're pissed off about being reaped? Good. Make sure they know it."

Peeta just nodded, but Katniss looked away, muttering, "Works for me."

Haymitch shot her a look. "Yeah, unfriendly and antagonistic. I figured it'd be right up your alley, sweetheart." He wasn't wrong, but his words still made her bristle.

Peeta sighed, clearly frustrated with their quickly disintegrating exchanges. "Is it time to start?" he asked Portia, pointedly changing the conversation, and she nodded, directing him to board the chariot. Katniss followed him, taking a step up behind him, but she was surprised when Peeta turned to help her up. Hesitantly, she accepted his outstretched hand, and she took her place next to him. When he released her hand, she realized how much she missed his steady touch—but the realization only fueled her anger.

"Oh, one more thing," Haymitch said, leaning into the chariot. "I want you two to hold hands. For the entire parade. And try to remember that you like each other."

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as their mentor stalked away—probably to find some alcohol. Cinna instructed them to turn on their suits, and both she and Peeta pressed the buttons on the inside of their wrists. Instantly, their suits began to glow, yellows and oranges fading into each other like the burning embers of coal. Atop their heads heavy metal crowns smoldered a fiery red. They were stunning. Katniss looked at Peeta, her breath catching in her throat, and she wondered if she looked just as dazzling as he did. The colors of her suit flickered in the blue depths of his eyes as he stared at her, and when he held his hand out to her again, she took it without hesitating. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, then the two of them faced forward as the horses pulled their chariot through the coliseum doors.

The loop around the coliseum went by like a dream; Katniss was glad she didn't have to pretend to care about these people, play to the crowd. It was easy to remain stoic and aloof, avoiding eye contact, simmering with rage. Her blood rushed in her ears, muffling the screams of the crowd as their chariot circled the stadium. When they rolled past President Snow's section, she could feel his menacing stare. Reflexively, her hand tightened around Peeta's, and he squeezed back.

After the parade, they found themselves squeezed into an elevator with the victors from Three, Five, Seven and Eleven. She didn't know any of them, and she wasn't good with small talk, so she stared at the elevator doors, hoping no one would try to engage her in conversation.

She wasn't that lucky. The female from Seven—Johanna, she thought she recalled—ripped off her tree headdress with a huff as the elevator began its ascent, ruffling her short, spiky hair. "Our stylists are morons," she said of her and her partner, directing the statement toward Katniss and Peeta. "You can't make a tree look good, but they insist on it every fucking year." She eyed their costumes enviously. "I wish we had your stylists."

Luckily, Peeta responded, saving Katniss from having to think on her feet. "We did get pretty lucky. Portia and Cinna are very talented."

"Tell me about it," Johanna said, but then she looked pointedly at Katniss. "That dress Cinna made for you at Snow's mansion? To die for."

Katniss stiffened under Johanna's stare, uncomfortable with the attention. "Uh, yes. He really...knows his fabrics," she said lamely, stepping aside so the District 3 tributes could get off on their floor.

When the doors closed again, Johanna shifted, unzipping her jumpsuit and sliding it down her torso. Katniss' eyes widened as the girl's bare breasts bounced free of the costume, and she quickly averted her eyes when Johanna pushed the clingy jumpsuit down her legs, kicking the offending material into the corner of the elevator. "There, that's better," Johanna declared. Then she just stood there, bare to the world, surrounded by all these other victors, who seemed more or less oblivious to the District 7 woman's state of undress. Only Katniss seemed horrified. Was everyone in the Capitol this flippant? And why was Peeta carrying on a conversation with her like she wasn't just standing there, completely nude? Her mouth thinned into a tight line, her cheeks flushing an angry red, but she kept her eyes narrowed at the doors, trying to tune out their discussion of Peeta's paintings and Johanna's high praises.

Finally, the District 7 tributes exited onto their floor, and when Eleven had cleared the elevator, too, Katniss and Peeta stood in silence. She waited for him to speak first, but he didn't, and as the doors slid open to deposit them on the top floor, jealousy loosened her tongue. "Well, I hope you enjoyed the show," she bit out angrily, breezing past him into their suite.

"What do you mean?" he asked innocently, but the way he said it, she knew he understood what she was asking. She spun around to glare at him, folding her arms over her chest.

"That was a really intense conversation you were having—with Johanna's  _breasts_ ," she snapped, and the twitch of his mouth and his eyebrow made her temper flare. "Did you like what you saw?"

He sighed. "Honestly? Yes." Her nostrils flared, but he held out his hands defensively. "But I'd rather see yours. I like your breasts much better." This time, her cheeks burned with something other than anger, and she dipped her head. "Katniss—" he started, but his words were cut off by the second elevator dinging open to reveal Haymitch, Effie and all their stylists.

They poured out of the elevator, and Katniss stiffened under Haymitch's stare. She was automatically on the defensive, wondering what she had done wrong this time. "What?" she snapped, and he rolled his eyes.

"I'd ask if you're always this damn prickly, but I know that's a yes," he said drily, but before she could retort, he continued, "Relax, sweetheart. I was going to commend you two on your professionalism this time. I could almost buy that the animosity seeping from you was directed at the Capitol, not your district partner."

She flushed in shame, trying not to look at Peeta. With a sigh, Peeta yanked his crown off, ruffling his hair, and Effie shooed them into the suite. "Let's get ready for dinner! Peeta, dear, let the Avox handle that for you; that's what they're here for, after all," she admonished, motioning to his crown. As he and Katniss turned to head into the suite, Katniss caught a glimpse of the redheaded Avox who had snuck up behind them silently, and she jolted to a stop.

She knew that woman, she was sure of it; but how? And then it hit her: She had seen her in the woods not that long ago, running alongside a boy before they were captured by a Capitol hovercraft, the boy speared on the ground. She'd had no idea what had happened to the girl—until now. Confusion and guilt surged inside her as she gawked at the redhead.

"Oh, my God, it's you," she breathed before she could think, and she saw the faintest flicker of recognition in the Avox's eyes before the woman set her face in a mask of passivity. She remembered her, too, then. Of course, how could she forget? Katniss had been the last person she'd seen as she screamed for help—and she had done nothing to help.

"Do you know her?" Peeta asked quizzically, and she jumped in surprise at the sound of his voice. She realized everyone was looking at her oddly.

"Don't be silly, Katniss—there's no way you could possibly know her," Effie said dismissively, breezing past them. "Avoxes are criminals. She can't talk anyway; she's had her tongue removed."

Katniss blanched, her eyes darting between Effie's retreating back and the Avox. But the Avox ignored her, taking Peeta's crown from him. Embarrassed, Katniss clamped her hand down over her own crown and fled into the suite, barely registering Effie's reminder about dinner as she darted down the hallway to her room. When the door shut behind her, she jerked the crown off her head and threw it across the room, where it thumped against the wall. Then she peeled her jumpsuit off until she was standing naked in her room. Feeling the despair creeping in, she climbed into the shower and clumsily pushed at a few buttons until she found a setting she liked. Under the hot spray of water, she crumbled to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. She sat there until the water turned cold, then, shivering, she crawled out onto the floor and draped a towel around her body. Once she was dried off, she snuggled into a robe, but she didn't move from the bathroom floor until Effie came to retrieve her for dinner. She would have ignored her, but the insistent rapping on her door grated on her nerves. Reluctantly, Katniss pulled on a pair of lounge pants and a loose T-shirt, braiding her wet hair. She knew her escort would chastise her for her attire, but she didn't care.

Dinner was uncomfortable, and, sure enough, Effie clucked her tongue in disapproval when she saw Katniss' clothing choice. But Katniss ignored her and all attempts at conversation as she pushed the food around her plate. She was too aware of the Avox's presence the entire meal to have much of an appetite. She tried to catch her eye many times, but she didn't know what to say. Or if the Avox even wanted to hear anything she had to say, any excuse she had for not helping her in the woods that day. What was she doing here? Was it just a coincidence that she was chosen as the attendant for the District 12 tributes? Katniss didn't known; she didn't understand a lot of things at that moment.

After dinner was finished, she couldn't retreat to her room fast enough. But she lay in her bed, tossing and turning restlessly. She couldn't shake the memory from that day, the gnawing discomfort prickling at the base of her skull, sinking heavily in her stomach. She needed to talk to someone about it.

Soundlessly, she slipped out of her room and down the hall to Peeta's room. She hesitated at his door, pressing her ear against it; she didn't hear any movement from inside. Was he already asleep? She probably had no right to seek comfort from him, not when she'd been denying him the same the past couple of days. Sighing inwardly, she knocked lightly at first, then a little louder just in case he was asleep. She was just about to retreat when the door slid open, revealing a very disheveled Peeta. His sleep-creased face squinted in confusion. "Katniss?"

She fidgeted under his stare. "Um, sorry. Did I wake you?" she asked nervously, and he rubbed at his eyes.

"I had just fallen asleep, I think."

"Sorry, I'll let you—"

"Are you okay?" he interrupted, the fog of slumber lifting from his eyes as he looked her over, a frown curving his lips down. She tugged on the hem of the ridiculously silky shift dress they'd given her as pajamas.

"I guess so," she murmured. "I just...wanted to talk."

He looked surprised. "You do? Okay...do you want to come in?" he asked, stepping back, and she nodded, following him inside his room. They stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, and she finally sighed.

"I'm sorry. I know I've been—difficult. I just...I don't know how to  _be_  here," she said vaguely, not sure she knew how to explain it to herself, let alone him.

"I understand," he murmured, and she didn't know how; she probably didn't deserve his understanding. She'd been nothing short of hostile toward him their entire time in the Capitol, including the train ride.

"And I couldn't sleep, so..." she trailed off, feeling guilty that she had woken him up. She knew how very little he slept as it was. But she already felt better in his presence.

"Do you want to try to...sleep here with me?" he offered, somewhat shyly, and she toyed with her braid before finally nodding. He led her to his bed, climbing in first. She perched on the edge as he lay down, stiffly following suit, and Peeta pulled the covers over them. They lay side by side, not touching, until Peeta cleared his throat. "Do you want me to—?"

"Yes," she answered before she even knew his question, and she was glad the darkness cloaked her mild blush. He scooted closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist, and, instinctively, she rolled onto her side away from him. He tucked her closer so her back was flush against his chest, and she stifled her sigh of relief. Why had she been avoiding him, avoiding this? She already felt immensely more relaxed, better than she'd felt since getting on the train.

His warm breath tickled the nape of her neck. "Was there something else you wanted to talk about?" he asked quietly. "I appreciate the apology, but you've seemed pretty tense all night—I mean, more so than usual..."

She wasn't sure if that was a joke or not. Chewing on her lip, she burrowed further under the covers. "I just...it's weird, but..." Could she tell Peeta about the Avox here? Was the suite bugged? Probably. But what did it matter now if Snow overheard her story? It didn't. He got them where he wanted them now. What else was there to hide? She sighed. "It was just that Avox..."

"You know her?"

She nodded. "I saw her in the woods one day. When Gale and I were hunting," she explained softly. "She was with a boy. I think—I mean, I know they were running. They weren't from 12, though. They looked like they were from the Capitol. But a hovercraft appeared and—the boy was killed. But they captured her, and then they were gone." She paused for a moment, listening to his breathing. "She saw me, though. She looked right at me and Gale and screamed for us to help her. But I...I know she remembers me. I saw it in her eyes. We didn't help her; we didn't even try to do anything. We just...watched. We were helpless. And scared."

He rubbed her arm comfortingly. "Wow. That's...I'm sorry you had to witness that."

She shrugged. "I just...I feel guilty, I guess..." His hand continued to move up and down her arm, and she closed her eyes at the feel of his palm against her skin.

"Where do you think they were running to?" he asked after a moment, and she blinked her eyes open, realizing how drowsy she suddenly felt.

"I don't know, honestly. I can't imagine they were running to Twelve..." she replied. "But...what's beyond 12?" As far as she knew, it was just woods and Capitol land and then, farther out, the ruins of District 13. But there was nothing there anymore, right? The Capitol insisted that area was still uninhabitable. Wasn't it? She didn't know what to think anymore.

Peeta hummed thoughtfully. "Weird," he mused finally, and she could hear the sleep in his voice. He squeezed her upper arm, then he stilled his hand. "Think you can sleep?" She nodded, her eyes drifting closed again. Unthinkingly, she pulled his arm around her waist, tucking his hand against her stomach, and he just hugged her closer. She was already halfway asleep when he whispered goodnight.

* * *

Waking up was difficult. Katniss felt warm and deliciously comfortable, but her eyes fluttered open anyway. Immediately, she became aware of the hard body pressed against her back, and she remembered that she was in Peeta's bed. She realized her shift had ridden up during the night—or maybe he had pushed it up—because it was bunched up around her waist, and his hand was under the material, splayed over her stomach. His palm felt hot against her skin. Snuggling further against him, she froze when she felt his erection press into her backside, and her already warm cheeks heated up some more.

She should be used to it by now, but she still felt like she was way out of her realm of experience when it came to him and sex. Still, the thought of sex with him gave her a little thrill. She shifted her hips experimentally, pressing her back against his groin, and she felt his hand twitch on her stomach. Slowly, she ground her ass into his erection, which grew harder still, and she felt a persistent tug in her center; his breath quickened on her neck, and she knew he was awake. He thrust his hips against her, and she heard him whine almost inaudibly in the back of his throat. His hand trailed up her stomach, his hips moving lazily against her bottom, and when he cupped her bare breast in his large hand, she gasped in delight.

An abrupt knock on his door sent them to opposite sides of the bed, terror stilling both their movements.

"It's time to wake up, Peeta! We've got training today!" Effie called through the door, and when it didn't seem like she was going to burst into his room, they relaxed. Peeta chuckled quietly, and she looked at him. His face was flushed, as was hers, and the sheets were tented around his crotch. He cleared his throat.

"Uh, sorry. Not sure if I was—doing that in my sleep or what..." he said, embarrassed, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

"No—no, it was me," she whispered. His eyes darkened as he looked at her, and she felt herself throb in desire.

"Oh. Well. In that case, I'm not sorry," he drawled, arching an eyebrow, and she looked away, biting back a smile.

"I should probably...get back to my room," she said, sliding out of his bed. When she looked at him, her gaze fell on his still prominent hard-on. "Thanks for letting me stay last night. And...I'm sorry for—that." She waved at his lap, and he shrugged nonchalantly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"It's fine. The sooner you get out of here, though, the sooner I can take care of it."

That made her blush, and she ducked his amused stare. "Right. Well. Have fun." His laughter followed her out of his room.

At breakfast, while Effie prattled on about the schedule for the day, Katniss kept sneaking glances at Peeta across the table. He seemed to be in a better mood than he had been, no doubt because she'd stopped ignoring him. He met her gaze periodically throughout the meal, flashing her small smiles, and she returned them weakly. He must think her crazy, though, the way she kept pushing him away just to pull him back. Sometimes, she wasn't really sure what she wanted, but she knew, above all else, she wanted to get back home to Prim. And that conflicted directly with her longing to be in Peeta's presence, to protect him in the games. How could she protect him and make sure she won? She just couldn't think about it.

Before they left for training, Haymitch demanded their attention. "Listen up, you two: The most important part of the next few days will be to make friends while you're in training." Friends? Katniss was horrified; Peeta shot their mentor a look of confusion. "You trained like a Career, Peeta, so you need to act like one. Make some allies with the other tributes. Chaff and Seeder from Eleven are good people, so are Finnick and Mags from Four. But feel everyone out for yourself, see who you get along with."

"Haymitch..." Peeta started uneasily. "Are you sure that's a good idea? Making allies?" Katniss sure as hell didn't think so. She thought it was a horrible idea. How can you make friends with people you were expected to kill?

"It brought you home the last time, kid," Haymitch said pointedly, and he took a swig from his flask. Katniss guessed his experiment with sobriety was over. "This year is different. You two are at a distinct disadvantage. This people have known each other for years. They're all friends, for the most part. When it comes down to it in the games, who do you think they're gonna choose to help in the games? You, or someone they've mentored alongside for years?"

"Then how can we even compete with that? A couple of days in training with us isn't going to override their friendships with these people. So how do we do that?" Katniss asked, frustrated. Haymitch arched an eyebrow at her.

"Make them like you, sweetheart," he said drily, and her mouth tightened. He looked amused. "But you should probably let Peeta do all the talking if you have any hopes of accomplishing that."

She scowled, but Peeta spoke up for her, "Katniss can be pretty endearing when she wants to be." He smiled boyishly at her, and she dropped her gaze, trying not to flush in embarrassment. Haymitch snorted.

"I'm not talking about what you two do in between the sheets. Not sure you can use that to your advantage in the arena," he said, and, red-faced and sputtering, Katniss threw a breakfast roll at him, which he ducked. Effie screeched at both of them for their lack of decorum, and Portia and Cinna hid their laughter behind their mugs of coffee.

Peeta sighed, but his cheeks were also tinged pink. "If you're quite done ribbing us, Haymitch," he said, standing up. "We should get going."

Haymitch wouldn't let Effie escort them downstairs like she wanted to, so Katniss and Peeta headed down to the training center alone. Her face was still heated, and she had a hard time looking at him as they rode the elevator down.

"He's just teasing you, Katniss," Peeta said quietly. "I know he's abrasive, but it's his way of showing he cares."

She huffed, staring at the doors. "I think I'd rather he didn't care, then," she muttered, then she shot him a look from the corner of her eye. "You didn't—you haven't told him anything about us, have you?"

His eyes widened. "No. I wouldn't—you honestly think I would brag to Haymitch about that kind of stuff or something?" he asked incredulously, and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"I just—I know you two are close, so I didn't know..." she mumbled, playing with her braid.

He sighed, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall. "I haven't told anyone about us," he replied, his tone dejected, and she chewed on her lip anxiously.

"Look, Peeta...it's not that I'm...ashamed or anything like that," she said haltingly, angling her body to look at him. "I just...like to keep some things private, I guess. I'm not good at talking to people about this kind of stuff."

"I know," he said softly, and she felt bad for her accusation.

"Thank you, though, for sticking up to me to Haymitch," she said, the corner of her mouth curling up slightly. "I know I'm not a very likable person. You don't have to pretend."

He pursed his lips in amusement, shrugging one of his shoulders. "I think you are. But I don't think you need me to stick up for you. I know you can handle yourself." He pushed off the wall when the elevator stopped, the doors sliding open. "Time to make some friends, I guess."

She was glad she didn't have to do this alone; Peeta had a natural ease with people, and he conversed effortlessly with the other tributes as they bounced from station to station, while she struggled to make small talk. She decided to just focus on the tasks at hand, practicing skills she was rusty on, like knot tying. Finnick pestered her at that station, showing off his excellent capabilities with knots, and she wanted to stalk away from him, but Peeta squeezed her hand and asked Finnick for pointers. Katniss didn't understand why Peeta seemed to like the District 4 tribute so much; she found him cocky and mostly revolting, given what she knew of his sexual escapades around the Capitol. But she supposed, if they had to make allies, a Career tribute was good to have around. At least, his district partner Mags was pleasant enough, even if she was hard to understand.

The District 3 tributes, Beetee and Wiress, were also nice and unassuming; she liked that. As they worked on a snare together, the pair informed her and Peeta about their district's industry, technology. She was amazed at some of the inventions the two had created; she was in awe of their intellect, and she felt insignificant in comparison. Her only real skill was nailing a squirrel through the eye with an arrow. But she got a chance to demonstrate her prowess with a bow at the weapons station, shooting down a cluster of fake birds the instructor tossed into the air. The other tributes had stared at her in amazement and stunned disbelief when she turned around, and Peeta grinned proudly at her.

"Well, now I see what you meant at the parade, Peet," Finnick said with an awed whistle.

A few tributes even bartered for a lesson in archery from her with lessons in their own weapon of choice; Johanna demonstrated how to throw an ax, Finnick showed them how to use a trident, and Mags even taught them some of her more challenging knots. The only tributes who didn't seem impressed by Katniss' superior bow and arrows skills were those from districts 1 and 2; she was fine with avoiding them as much as possible, though.

At lunch, she was surprised when they all pushed the tables together to eat with each other. She still felt wholly out of place among this group of victors, and she was used to eating in relative solitude; she kind of wanted to slink off and eat in a corner by herself. But when she saw Johanna sit down beside Peeta, she clenched her jaw and plopped down on his other side. He smiled at her, but she couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking about the District 7 girl's breasts.

"Kitty Kat, I've gotta say," Johanna said, swallowing the food in her mouth. "You don't look like much, but you've really surprised me. Never would've guessed you'd be so lethal behind that doe-eyed, little girl façade."

That was rich, coming from the tribute who'd won her games by pretending to be a weepy, sniveling weakling who cut down her opponents with an ax. "What can I say? I came to win," she challenged forcefully, but Johanna just grinned, glancing between her and Peeta.

"That so?" She slid closer to Peeta, bumping her hip against his. "Well, I'm so sad to hear you won't be making it back home, Peet. Maybe you and I can get some alone time before you eat it in the games, since your girlfriend will be otherwise preoccupied."

His ears turned pink, and he rolled his eyes. Katniss gawked at the older girl's brazenness, and Johanna guffawed at the look on her face. "Relax, Kitty Kat. I have no interest in Lover Boy. Wouldn't want to come between the star-crossed lovers or anything like that," she said, a little too sweetly, and Katniss' face relaxed into a mild scowl. She wondered if this was what it was like to have an older sister; somehow, she couldn't ever imagine taunting Prim in such a manner.

Johanna turned to talk to her district partner Blight, and Peeta rubbed Katniss' thigh under the table. Glaring at her plate, she shoveled some of the mashed potatoes into her mouth. "Johanna was just teasing you," he said lightly.

"Yeah, I'm getting a little sick of everyone 'just teasing' me today," she grumbled after she'd swallowed her mouthful. He shrugged, sopping up some of his gravy with a biscuit.

"If you don't react, they'll stop messing with you," he said, and she shot him an exasperated look. "Just trying to help. You don't grow up with two older brothers without learning a trick or two."

"Well, it's easy for you. You fit in with these people. You're a victor. I'm not even supposed to be here," she said, her voice catching in her throat. He looked at her sadly, swallowing.

"I know...but you've already shown that you fit in; you're as much of a contender as anybody," he said, leaning closer to her to keep his voice low. "After what you did on the bow, I'm pretty sure most of the tributes will be clamoring to be our allies just because of how dangerous you've proven yourself to be."

Maybe that was supposed to be comforting, but she didn't want to think about how dangerous she was—she didn't want to be a danger, to have to kill anyone. Tentatively, she reached under the table and covered his hand with her own. She was trying hard not to think about the fact that, in order for her to win, Peeta would have to die.

Katniss loosened up some the next day in training, talking and interacting with the others a little more readily, but truth be told, she found getting to know the tributes made this harder. How could you be friends with someone and expect to be pitted against them in the games? It was tough enough just worrying about Peeta; suddenly, she wasn't so sure this plan was a good one.

She voiced her concerns to Peeta that night in his room, when he let her into his bed to sleep. He just sighed and hugged her closer. "I know. I know. But...I trust Haymitch. He's never led me wrong before. I have to trust that this is the best plan for us," he said tiredly. She wished she had the same blind faith in their mentor that he seemed to have.

For her private session with the gamemakers, Katniss wasn't entirely too sure what to show them that they hadn't already seen in training. Peeta had gone before her, and as the allotted time ran over, she wondered what he had done in his session; he hadn't told her beforehand, and the gamemakers looked agitated and unsettled by the time she was ushered inside the room. She decided to show off her archery and tree climbing skills, scaling the ropes and structures around the room and shooting arrows at items from up high, on the ground and in mid-run.

She told Haymitch as much when he inquired about their private sessions later over dinner. He seemed pleased with that. Peeta looked a little chagrined when it was his turn to explain what he'd done.

"I, uh...well, I painted a picture of Rue when she was killed in the arena," he said quietly, and Effie gasped in astonishment. The table went silent as everyone stared at him wordlessly until Haymitch groaned.

"Why did you do that?"

Peeta shrugged, shifting in his seat uncomfortably, and he poked at his food with his fork. "I wanted to hold them accountable for her death. They should be reminded of that moment every day, like I am. If I'd had time, I would have painted everyone's deaths."

"Jesus, kid," Haymitch sighed. "I'd say I'm surprised, but I'm not. Sometimes, I'm not sure if you're too smart for your own good or just really fucking stupid."

"Maybe it's both?" he offered in an attempt to lighten the somber mood that had settled over the table. Katniss smiled softly at him. Maybe he was stupid, but she admired his bravado.

They watched the scores afterward. She was baffled when they both received a 12.

"They wanted to paint huge, red targets on your backs," Haymitch explained drolly, swigging his alcoholic beverage as he slumped down on the couch.

"But why me?" Katniss asked, confused. He shrugged.

"Maybe you were just that good. Or maybe Snow thinks that it's both of you that's the problem, not just Peeta."

The blood drained from her face at his words, and Peeta dropped his head into his hands. "Does that mean..." She didn't know what to ask. Did that mean the gamemakers was going to target her in the arena, like he would Peeta? Did that mean she had no chance of coming home from the games alive?

"Don't worry about what it means right now. Get some sleep, and we'll focus on your strategy for the interviews tomorrow."

* * *

Katniss stared at herself in the full-length mirror as Cinna adjusted the hairpiece on the side of her head. The skirt of her dress fell to the floor, covered in wispy charcoal black feathers, which rose up the bodice to interlace with white feathers and pearls. The neck of the dress ensconced her neck with more feathers. Her back and her arms were left bare, and her hair was swept into an elegant updo with soft waves and braids; a large black feather headpiece clipped into her hair finished the outfit off.

She wasn't entirely sure how the dress reflected coal, though she thought the smoky colors appeared to make her smolder. "I guess this is a very liberal take on District 12's industry," she joked, and Cinna smirked.

"Yes, you could say that. Something Peeta said a while ago planted a seed of an idea in my head, and this is the result," he said cryptically, but before she could inquire further, he motioned for her to spin. "Turn slowly for me."

She did, and he nodded his approval. "Good. You nervous for your interview?"

The nerves in her stomach raged at the reminder, and, out of reflex, she reached up to play with her braid before she remembered her hair was pulled back. "Yes. I hate talking to people, and I'm upset and angry that I'm here. I really don't know how I'm going to convince anyone they should even consider sponsoring me."

"I think you've already done a lot to convince them," he said. "Peeta did a good job of talking you up in his last games, and ever since then, too. The country loves the two of you together, and it's made even more tragic by the fact that you're both in the games. On top of that, you volunteered to join him; people are obsessed with the idea of the star-crossed lovers doing everything they can to protect the other."

Of course, the country really had no idea how the reaping went down, specifically the fact that Peeta nearly had his head blown off. The footage had been edited after the fact, so all they saw was that he refused to choose his partner, and she stepped up to volunteer. To them, it looked like the ultimate gesture of love—that she was so scared for him, so distraught over being parted from him, she volunteered herself so she could protect him in the games.

It was more romantic and selfless than she knew her real motivations to be. She had been scared for his life, yes, but only because of the gun Thread held to his head; that had been the immediate threat she couldn't ignore, not the games.

"They already love you," Cinna insisted, gently touching her chin to lift her face up to his. "Just be honest when you're on that stage. I don't think you can go wrong there."

She wasn't so sure about that.

When Peeta saw her under the stage as they readied themselves for the interviews, his face lit up. "Wow, you look—wow." But he frowned suddenly, his eyes sweeping up and down her dress.

"What?" she asked, self-consciously smoothing down her bodice. Clearing his throat, he shook his head, but he still looked trouble.

"Nothing. I mean, you look beautiful. You just look—I can't place it exactly. But..." he trailed off, and then realization dawned in his eyes. "You look like a bird. Like a mockingjay. It's the colors, I think."

Frowning, she surveyed the skirt of her dress. The colors were like the markings of a mockingjay. "Maybe. Cinna said he was inspired by something you said a while ago, but I have no idea what exactly."

Peeta sighed, rubbing his chin. "In the first games, Rue compared you to a mockingjay."

"Oh." She still didn't understand why Cinna would want to utilize that imagery for her specifically, but being tied to a symbol of the Capitol's failure—and that was what the mockingjay represented, really—made her uneasy. "Well, I guess we kind of match," she said, gesturing to his outfit. The colors of his suit coordinated with her dress, with charcoal black slacks, jacket and dress shirt, accentuated by a white tie.

He smiled ruefully, reaching out his hand to trail over the feathers on her bodice. "The feathers probably would've looked a little ridiculous on me," he mused.

She smiled, but then it was time to take the stage. Under the blinding lights and before the roaring crowd, Katniss was sure she was going to throw up. She wished she and Peeta weren't the last tributes up to interview; she'd rather just get it over with.

As she sat through all 22 interviews, however, she began to wonder if she was hallucinating. The tributes seemed to be taunting the Capitol and the president, flouncing the rules and blatantly questioning the legality and fairness of the Quarter Quell. She couldn't believe their audacity; even Peeta looked perplexed as the interviews progressed.

Maybe she didn't have to be too concerned about pissing the viewers off, after all. This thought bolstered her confidence, and when it was her turn, she approached Caesar with little concern for what she should say. As the host greeted her, she tried to smile as widely as possible, though she was sure the sentiment wasn't reflected in her eyes.

"Now, Katniss, I must say, I've been looking forward to interviewing you the most," Caesar said, settling back in his chair. "I've only met you once before, and I'm sad to say I hardly know you! What's it been like getting to know all these past victors?"

She blinked, her eyes flitting to some of the tributes who surrounded them on the stage. "Um, overwhelming, I guess. Most of the time I have no idea what I'm doing here."

He grinned, his eyes glinting. "Well, I know what you're doing here. You couldn't bear the thought of losing Peeta, so you volunteered to join him!" Right. Haymitch told her to play up the romance angle. She wondered how much Caesar knew about the reaping; had he seen the unedited version? Katniss nodded uneasily, and Caesar's face softened as he leaned closer. "Tell me, what was going through your mind in that moment?"

The truth was, she wasn't really sure. She had reacted before she could think; that had always been her problem, really. "I..." she stopped, hesitant, and her gaze flickered between his face and the audience. They were watching her anxiously. "I was scared. I was scared he was going to die. I wanted to help him." Thinking about that moment in the square, the absolute terror she felt watching Thread point his gun at Peeta's head, she felt a simmering anger rage inside her, and she gritted her teeth. "And I was angry. Angry for him, angry that he had been put in this position for a second time. It hasn't even been a year since he—since he came back home, and now he has to go back in. It's not fair, it's—"

She had to cut herself off, afraid she was saying too much. Caesar patted her hand reassuringly, his face a mask of sympathy. "It's obvious you care a great deal about him. District 12 hasn't had a volunteer in decades! People admire your guts. And you got a 12 in training! Both of you did! You two are the power couple of the games. For being so new to the games, you two might just possibly dominate."

No, that was exactly why the other tributes were going to target them. She held her tongue, however, and shrugged meekly. "We'll see."

"I've heard from a little birdie that you're a whiz with the bow. Now, you don't have to reveal too much, but can you give us a little hint as to what you're strategy is going to be in the arena?" Caesar asked eagerly.

Katniss swallowed; she had no idea. Her strategy was to stay alive. Get home to Prim. But what about Peeta? What could she say? What could she do? "I'm just...I'm going to fight as hard as I can. For the people I love. And...I'll do what I can in the arena to keep myself...and Peeta alive."

She hoped that was enough.

Caesar concluded the interview, and when she passed Peeta on her way back to her seat, his face looked troubled but determined. She remembered his interview last year, and her stomach knotted slightly in anticipation of what he might say this time. He and Caesar began their usual good-natured banter, but when the questions turned toward Katniss, Peeta's face darkened.

"This must be a tough situation for you and her," Caesar said. "There can only be one victor, after all."

Peeta nodded. "And it's going to be her. She has a family back home that needs her. She's strong, and she's smart. She's going to win, and I'll help her do it."

"Even if it kills you?" Caesar asked lightly, and Peeta nodded.

"Even if." The crowd murmured sadly, some members shrieking for their favorite victor. The tributes before had incited a growing outrage among the audience, who were reacting to the injustice of their beloved victors being forced to fight to the death again, and they seemed to be particularly upset about so-new a victor as Peeta, one who had barely had the time to enjoy his victory, being sent back in—alongside his lover, no less.

Peeta smiled darkly at the crowd, his eyes hooded. "Let's not pretend we don't know what's going to happen. I've accepted my fate; I am prepared to die so Katniss can live. And I will do it gladly. I love her. I have always loved her. I wanted—I spent most of my life envisioning a lifetime with her: We would get married in a private toasting ceremony back home, we would have children—two, maybe, who looked just like her—and we would raise them together, and they would be happy and loved. That's all I ever wanted, Caesar. But...I'm grateful for this past year with her. It was more than I could have hoped for, more than I deserved. It was enough. There is no life for me without her, and that's why I can do this with no hesitation."

The crowd was crying, their shouts a dull roar in the auditorium, but Katniss could barely hear them over the blood rushing in her ears. She stared at Peeta, her mouth parted in disbelief and her eyes round with horror, and she knew she should do a better job reigning in her expression, but she couldn't. She couldn't believe he'd said all that. Was he just playing up their romance? No, his face was too honest, too defeated, and she knew; she knew he meant every word of it. He loved her. He wanted to marry her, to start a family with her.

He wasn't going to get any of that, with her or anyone, because he was planning to die in the arena.

She didn't even realize she was crying until she tasted the saline in her mouth, and she blinked furiously, her tears slipping down her cheeks faster, pooling in the corners of her mouth. Peeta was still talking, and she strained to hear him.

"This is true of all of us, Caesar. Every one of us on this stage is expected to fight someone we care about starting tomorrow; we're expected to let them die, possibly even kill them. And every one of us has people we love, a life back home waiting for us, lives we  _hope_  to lead—but it won't happen. It can't happen for all of us. Only one of us will get that chance, the chance to continue living the life they had before the reaping—but after the games, what kind of life will that be, really?"

By the time the interview was over, the audience was on its feet screaming as Peeta made his way back beside her, and she stood up with the rest of the tributes, reaching for his hand. He clasped her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. Her eyes were burning with her tears, blurring her vision, and she looked around wildly. Chaff stood to her right, and he smiled at her and Peeta. Instinctively, she reached for his hand, her fingers grasping at the nub of flesh where his hand used to be. Then, one by one, the tributes clasped their hands together, and there they stood on the stage, united before the Capitol.

It was pandemonium in the auditorium, and they were all rushed off stage and escorted to the elevators. Katniss never let go of Peeta's hand, but no one spoke in the elevator, too stunned by what they had witnessed and been a part of on that stage. Back in their suite on the top floor, Katniss and Peeta found Haymitch and their stylists waiting for them, grim looks on their faces.

"What's going on, Haymitch?" Peeta asked.

"They're rioting; the citizens are in the streets rioting," he said grimly, and both Peeta and Katniss blanched.

"Rioting?" Peeta repeated. "What does that mean? Are they—would they cancel the games?"

Haymitch scoffed. "No, not at this point in the games, I'm afraid. I think it's safe to say this will be the most unpopular games ever, though." Katniss looked at Peeta, the flame of hope flickering in her chest crushed by their mentor's words. "I would try to get some sleep if I were you two." They had just turned away when he called to them again. His face was somber, pinched. "When you're in the arena tomorrow..." he trailed off and shook his head, his jaw tightening as his eyes flickered between the two of them. "Just remember who the real enemy is, okay?"

She was perplexed by his statement, unsure if it was meant to be an insult or some kind of admonishment. A glance at Peeta revealed he was equally confused, but he just nodded, taking her hand. After bidding everyone goodnight, Peeta led her to his room. He paused at the door, turning to face her.

"Do you need to go to your room to get ready for bed?" he asked, but she just shook her head, too afraid to leave his side now. He pulled her inside, and when the door shut behind them, he gently untangled his hand from hers and moved to his dresser. She stood in the middle of the room, watching his back. Turning back around, he pulled up short when he saw her face. "What's wrong?"

She wanted to snort. What  _wasn't_  wrong? "Everything is wrong, Peeta. How could you—how could you say those things out there, about me, about us?" she asked, her throat closing just at the thought of what he'd told Caesar, the whole world. He dropped his gaze, clenching in his hand the shirt he'd retrieved from the dresser.

"I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention to make you uncomfortable."

She stared at him incredulously. "Uncomfortable? I'm not uncomfortable. I'm—I'm sad and horrified and angry! How am I supposed to go home, Peeta? How am I supposed to go home now?" she demanded, her voice shaking, and he looked at her in surprise, crossing the room to stand in front of her.

"I—you're gonna be fine," he insisted, touching her arm. "You're fully capable of winning, and you've got two people, essentially, fighting for you to win. And once you get back home, to your family, to Prim...you're gonna be okay."

She just shook her head in despair. He didn't understand. "No. Even if—even if I can win, I don't get to keep  _you_. I don't get to take you home. How is that winning?" He stared at her stupidly, his arm dropping to his side. "If you die, I'll never leave this place. Not really."

He swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry..." he murmured, sweeping a hand over her cheek to catch an errant tear. "I don't know what to say. I'm trying to be realistic about what's going to happen. I just want you to survive, to be happy. Go back and make a life for yourself in whatever way you can."

She didn't know if that was possible without him. He sighed. "Let's get ready for bed, okay?" He unclipped the feather piece from her hair, smoothing down her flyaways, and held the shirt up to her. Her eyes searched his face, his eyes, then she reached behind her and unsnapped the dress from around her neck. She let it go, and the heavy bodice fell away from her body, revealing her breasts to him. Her nipples puckered from both the cold air and the heat of his gaze. Pushing the dress down her hips, she let it billow to the floor and gingerly stepped out of the material that pooled around her feet, sliding out of her heels as well. Then she took the shirt from him and stared at his face. His eyes were clouded with desire, but he loosened his tie, turning away to remove the rest of his suit. Slipping on his undershirt, she let her hair down, collecting the pins in her hand.

Peeta had tugged off his jacket and shirt, and she watched him slide his pants down until he stood before her in just his boxers. When he faced her again, they stared at each other silently before he cleared his throat and gestured to the bathroom. "Do you need to use the bathroom or...?"

Katniss nodded; she wanted to get the layers of makeup off her face, at least. Brushing past him, she shut the door and set the pins on the sink. Then she washed her face, brushed her teeth and used the bathroom. When she emerged, he was perched on the edge of the bed, and he stood up, walking past her into the bathroom. She crawled into his bed, slipping under the covers, and she curled up on her side to face the wall. After a few minutes, Peeta exited the bathroom, turned off the light and slid into bed behind her. His hand settled on her hip, and he pressed against her back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered in the darkness. "I'm not trying to make things harder for you. That's the last thing I want. But I meant what I said out there. I love you, Katniss. I love you. I thought I loved you before, but now...what I feel now, it's so much more. It's killing me that you're here...but all I can promise you is that I'm going to do everything I can to get you back home. I promise you."

She bit her lip, willing the tears away, willing his words away. Prim. She had to think of Prim. Prim was back home. And Prim needed her.

But Peeta was here. And she needed  _him._  She twisted onto her other side so her face was aligned with his. "You're an idiot," she hissed, her voice choked. "I hate you for making me feel these things for you."

And then she was kissing him. It was a hungry, desperate, needy kiss, like the ones the night before the reaping. She opened her mouth wide, and his tongue swept inside to find hers. She gripped his shoulders tightly, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, crushing her against his chest. His warm hands slipped under her shirt, tracing her spine, and she hooked her leg over his hip; his growing erection pressed insistently between her thighs, and they both groaned. His hand trailed down her leg to her knee and back up again, where his fingers slipped under the side of her panties, tugging at them. Then, roughly, he pushed her leg off his hip and yanked her underwear down her legs. She lifted her hips to help him and kicked them off the rest of the way, and he jerked her hips back to his. She gasped when he thrust his erection against her center; even through his boxers, he felt warm. She was wet already.

When his hand slipped between her thighs, she nearly bit his lip off. His fingers stroked her clit, his tongue mimicking the movements in her mouth. She moaned around his tongue, her hips rocking in time with the ministrations of his hand, and when his fingers slipped inside her, she arched against him. Shaking her head to gather her bearings, she pressed on his shoulders to push him onto his back. He stared at her, wide-eyed, as she straddled his waist. In one swift move, she yanked her shirt off over her head and tossed it over the side of the bed. Peeta's hands settled on her thighs, squeezing tightly as he stared lustfully at her breasts. She leaned down to capture his lips with hers again, her nipples grazing his bare chest. Licking the roof of his mouth, she pulled away to press light kisses along his clavicle and his chest. She slid down his body, brushing over his hard-on, and she hooked her fingers under the waistband of his boxers. Katniss pulled his shorts off, sucking her lip into her mouth when his cock sprang free. Once she had his boxers off, she paused, considering his prosthetic. Her fingers skimmed over the metal, trailing over the area where his flesh met the artificial limb. He never took it off around her.

"Do you...can you take this off? Would that be okay?" she asked softly, lifting her questioning eyes to his face. He looked apprehensive, but after a moment, he nodded.

"Yeah, I can take it off," he said, sitting up slightly to unfasten the prosthetic. After he'd sat it down on the floor beside the bed, he glanced at her face as he lay back down. She smiled at him, a gentle smile, and she covered the callused skin with her hand, massaging the leg gingerly, and he closed his eyes with a sigh. Her gaze settled on his cock again, watching it twitch when her fingers dug into his flesh, and she ached in anticipation. Crawling back up his body, she straddled his waist again; the head of his cock brushed against her backside, and his eyelids fluttered open to look at her.

"Is this okay if we—do it like this?" she asked, gesturing vaguely to their position. His eyes darkened in response.

"Yeah, we can do whatever you want," he murmured, his voice gruff.

Shyly, she scooted back so she hovered over his pelvis; they both reached between her legs to grasp his cock in hand, Peeta helping her position him at her entrance. When she felt him pressing into her, she shifted her pelvis and sunk down onto his cock. His gravelly moan punctuated her gasp, and she settled over him, her thighs spread wide around his hips. It only pinched slightly now, and she sighed at the feeling of him stretching her, filling her. After a moment, she looked down to where they were joined.

"I...so how do I do this?" she asked, embarrassed. "What do you want me to do?"

He blinked at her. "I—I don't know. This is new for me," he said with a nervous chuckle. He wiggled his hips some, thrusting up into her. "Ah, just...do whatever feels good for you. I'll like it no matter what."

She braced her hands on his abdomen, and, hesitantly, she began to roll her hips against his. She hissed at the friction on her clit and bore down harder on him, moving faster. Peeta groaned quietly, his hands sliding up her thighs to circle her hips and guide her movements. She exhaled tiny gasps of pleasure, screwing her eyes shut as she rode him. He pushed himself up into a sitting position suddenly, his hand snaking around her neck to pull her into a heated kiss, and he twirled his tongue into her mouth. When she broke away to throw her head back and moan, he lowered his face to her breast, sucking her nipple between his lips. She fisted her hands in his hair, her hips undulating in a frenzied pace.

"Peeta, I..."Her words died in a guttural moan when he tugged on her nipple with his teeth, pleasure spiraling through her core. As she came, her hips bucked against his, and she cried out into the darkness of the room, her hands tugging on his hair. Her movements stilled on top of him after a moment, and, with one more kiss, Peeta stretched back out on the bed beneath her and gripped her ass in his hands. He lifted her up some, then pushed her back down, and he groaned, his head falling back. Dazed, Katniss followed his lead, leveraging herself on her shins to slide his cock in and out of her.

"God, yes, that's—that's...yes," he gasped incoherently, and she moved faster, dipping her head back as her moans echoed around the room. She should probably try to be quieter, but for once she really didn't care if anyone else knew what they were doing. She had bigger concerns at the moment, and her number one priority was enjoying what little time she had left with Peeta.

His hips were rising off the bed now, thrusting up into hers, and his fingers dug so hard into her ass, she was sure he was going to leave marks. "Katniss," he whined, his voice a husky whimper, his hips crashing frantically against hers, and then his eyes popped open. "Up, up—I'm gonna—fuck," he grunted, hurriedly pushing her off so he could grab his cock and angle it up toward his chest, spurting semen across his stomach. She watched in fascination as he came, his cock throbbing in his hand, and he moaned quietly, his face scrunched in ecstasy.

After his orgasm subsided, he released his softening cock and sighed, peering up at her face. "Sorry, I didn't mean to throw you off," he apologized weakly, his mouth pulling into a sheepish grin. She just shook her head, her eyes lingering on the semen that pooled on his stomach. "Uh, just let me clean up..."

She slid off him, letting him up off the bed, and she curled up under the sheets while he cleaned himself off in the bathroom. She watched him as he padded back into the room and crawled back into bed beside her, then she grabbed his arms and forced him on top of her. He blinked in surprise, his mouth parting slightly. She brought her knees up to cradle him between her thighs, and he braced his weight on his forearms. "Let's just...do this all night, okay?" she whispered; his eyes widened, illuminated by the Capitol lights leaking through the windows. "As long as we can. I just...I can't think about anything else right now. Okay?"

His breaths were heavy and hot on her face as he stared down at her. Finally, he nodded slowly. "Okay," he agreed softly, lowering his mouth to capture hers. Once he was hard again, that was where they stayed the rest of the night: wrapped in each other's arms, him moving in and out of her, both tumbling over the brink multiple times. If one of them fell asleep, the other would kiss them awake, slipping into each other again, and again, until it was physically impossible to stay awake any longer.

Her body was equal parts sated and sore the next day, but her mind felt unrested and frayed, despite the minimal sleep they managed to get. No words passed between them when they got up and showered together, helping clean each other. When the stylists came to round them up, she was reluctant to leave his side. He cupped her face in his hands. "I'll see you in there, okay? I'll find you, or you find me first, okay?" he said urgently, and she inhaled deeply before nodding her head. He held her gaze for a long moment, and then he pressed a kiss to her lips, releasing her to follow his stylists. Her own led her to Cinna, where they proceeded to prep her and dress her for the arena. The blue, skin-tight bodysuit clung to her shape and felt practically nonexistent; she was impressed Cinna was able to get it on her at all, considering how badly her limbs were shaking. From fear. From nerves. From sleep-deprivation.

They were largely silent on the hovercraft ride to the Launching Room in the arena. She tried to eat, but everything stuck in her throat, making her stomach roil dangerously. Cinna finally just gave her some water to sip in silence. All she could think about was how she could be dead in less than an hour.

No, she tried to assure herself. She was a fighter. A hunter. She had Peeta on her side. She had no idea what the arena held, but somehow, in her gut, she felt like she wouldn't be one of the firsts to die. She couldn't be. She had Prim to think about. And Peeta.

"I believe in you," Cinna said suddenly, his voice soft but resolute. She looked at him sharply, incredulous relief creasing her face.

"You do?" she asked, feeling small. He gave her a reassuring smile and nodded.

"Yes. Stylists aren't allowed to bet, but if I could, I'd bet on you."

She smiled unconvincingly at him but said nothing more, forcing herself to finish her glass of water—slowly, though, so it wouldn't immediately come back up. Soon, a disembodied voice alerted them that it was time for launch. Cinna helped her onto the circular platform that would lift her into the arena; he squeezed her hand and stepped back. She locked eyes on his face, then, mildly panicked, wondering if his face would be the last face she saw. He nodded his head at her and tapped his chin, signaling for her to lift her head up. Katniss took a deep breath and did just that, right as the cylinder enclosed around her.

And then she was being lifted into darkness.


End file.
